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BOBS AND NABOBS; 



A DOMESTIC DRAMA 



IN FOUR ACTS. 



ST. LOinS: 
G. I. JONES & COMPANY. 

18S3. 



BOBS AND NABOBS; 



A DOMESTIC DRAMA 



^ 



IN FOUR ACTS. 



By marie T. ALLEN. 




ST. LOUIS: 
G. I. JONES & COMPANY. 

1SS2. 






Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1882, by 

MARIE T. ALLEN, 
In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington. 



TMP92-008554 



BOBS AND NABOBS. 



CHARACTERS. 

JosiAH Brown 

{^^ Struck it rich:') 

W'm. Brown 

{His brother J a New York capitalist.) 

Charles Gordon 
Mr. Fitzogden 

(" Two o' your city chaps " with an eye to the main chance.) 

Mr. Livingston 

{'■''My pardner, Sammy Wilkins.''') 

Harry Brown 

(Son of Wm. Brown, inclined to " larks.''"') 

Servant 

Maria Brown 

(Wife of Josiahf *'with a mind o' her own.''') 

Ethel 

(Daughter of Wm. Brown.) 

Sary Jane 

(Daughter of Josiah. Very sentimental.) 
Polly 

(Daughter of Josiah. ^'A wild haimrrf-scarum.'") 

Time — Present. 



BOBS AND NABOBS. 



ACT I. 

SCENE I. 



[_Intenor of farm-house. Curtain rises disclosing Mrs. Brown 
making a cap with flowers and ribbons.'} 

Mrs. Brotvn (^getting up). Deary me, it's eanamost 
night. I'se been so long a putting this cap together, I 
clean forgot about supper. I wonder where them gals is ? 
Sary Jane is reading somewhere, I'll be bound. That 
gal puts me out of all patience with her eternal novel- 
readin'. She'd better be improvin' her mind readin' 
Pilgrim's Progress and sich like, I tells her, or the Life 
of Daniel Boone — something practical and improvin'. 
(Calls.) Sary Jane! Sary Jane! where be you? You'll 
ketch your death o' cold settin' up in that 'ere cold room. 
Come down immedjetly and help with supper. The cows 
is to be milked and the pigs fed. {Goes to luork prepar- 
ing supper.) If ever a woman had her hands full its me. 
Husband out among the mines somewhere, this sixmonth, 
not earning a cent. I told him he wouldent succeed, but 
he wouldent take my advise, o' course not, and went and 
mortgaged the farm to get money enough to go out there, 
and now it's all lost and me left here with ever3'thing on 
my hands — the farm to take care on, the pigs and cows, 



6 BOBS AND NABOBS. 

and nothin' to feed them on. We'll come to the poor- 
house 3^et, that we will, and all my hopes o' gettin' along 
in the world are blasted. And after all my workin' and 
toilin' to bring up the girls right, just look at 'em. 
Polly's enough to drive me to distraction. She is the 
greatest harum-scarum in two counties, a perfect tom- 
boy ; takes after her father. She's Brown all over; we 
never had such actions on my side of the house. The 
Tomkins was always respectable. Wonder what she is 
up to now. I sent her after the eggs two hours ago, 
and she ain't back yet. {Looks out of windoic^ R.) O 
there she is, a tearing round all fired on that colt. ( Takes 
cloivn horn and blows it.) It's a mercy she ain't killed 
twenty times a day. {Blows again.) That will fetch 
her. O Jemina, if she ain't astandin' up on his back 
awavin' her hands at me like a circus-rider. Goodness 
gracious ! she is agoin' to turn a sumerset on his backi 
O! O! {Blows the horn furiously.) Come here this 
minute. {Shakes her hand at Polly.) 

[Enter Sary Jane, X.] 

Sary Jane. Why, what's the matter, that you disturb 
the silence with that horn? 

Mrs. Brown. Disturb your grandmother! It's time, I 
think, with Polly tearin' round like wild on that two-year- 
old. She'll break her neck some day, and a pretty doc- 
tor's bill we'll have to pay, and your father away, and 
the mortgage coming due, and everything going to rack 
and ruin. [Sary Jane goes to window and looks out, 

Sary Jane. She has descended precipitately. 

Mrs. Brown. What on earth do you mean, Sary Jane, 



BOBS AND NABOBS. / 

b}^ descended preciperatelly ? Has she fall and hurt her- 
self? 

Sary Jane. No, mar. She got off quick. 

Mrs. Brown. Then why didn't you say so at first, 
instead of harrowing up my feeUn's? Descended pre- 
ciperately, indeed! Sary Jane, that all comes o' them 
novels. If you don't stop readin' 'em, I'll burn up every 
one I find — see if I don't. Here, peal these cold pota- 
toes, and stop thinking about novels and such things. 
(Sarah Jane sife, L. Noise heard without — whistling 
' ' Yankee Doodle. ' ' ) There comes that gal. I've a good 
mind as ever I lived to give her a threshin'. 

[Enter Polly, door at back.l 

Polly. Oh m}^ eye ! Didn't I have a gay time ! Did 
you see me? 

3Irs. Brown. PoUyanthus, why did you disobey me, 
and scare the life e'enamost out of me? Where's the 
eggs I sent you for over two hours ago? \_Ligh's candle. 

Polly. Oh laws! I couldn't find any; so where was 
the use of coming back? Top-knot has stolen her nest, 
so I just thought I'd find her, — and then the colt was in 
the wheat, and I went after him. I crept up softly like, 
and he was going to frisk away, and I caught him, and 
away we went like blazes ! But I hung on, j^ou bet, and 
after awhile I played I was a wonderful and world- 
renowned bare-back rider, only I hadn't any hoops to 
jump through, so I made believe. 

Mrs. Brown. I should think you did. Just look at 
your dress, all torn to tatters ; and where you are going 
to get another is more than I know. Sit right down and 
mend it this minute. 



8 BOBS AND NABOBS. 

Polly. Yes, marm. 

\_Gets needle and thread and sits on footstool, R. 

Mrs. Brown. Why can't you quiet down and make a 
lady? You never' 11 have any education, kiting round 
the fields playin' circus when you ought to be at your 
books. (Mrs. Browne sets the table.) After supper you 
must read three chapters in "Fox's Book of Martyrs," 
for your mental elervation and improvement. 

Polly. The one where they are pouring hot lead into 
'em? and puUin' 'em up over wheels and breakin' their 
bones? I'd sooner be a circus rider — mth short pink 
skirts and spangles, and plumes in my hair, and a beau- 
tiful white horse, and a beautiful cushion to ride on, 
and I'd go sailing around the ring, and everyone would 
clap their hands and — 

Mrs. Brown. No more of that nonsense, Polly. It's 
the Brown blood in you, I expect. Goodness knows the 
Tompkins's never had no such notions. 

Polly. Well, I'll do it if I have a chance. Ain't sup- 
per nearly ready? I'm awful hungry. 

Mrs. Broion. Set the table, then, and make yourself 
useful. (Polly rises, 'and assists in prepariyig table.) 
Oh, girls, where do you suppose your father is to-night? 
We haven't heard from him in so long, I am getting 
dreadful nervous like and afeard something has hap- 
pened. 

Polly. I hope it has — something good, so he could 
come back. 

Sary Jane. Oh, ma, I read the most beautiful story to- 
day, all about a man who went out to Colorado, and after 
a long time he struck a rich mine worth thousands and 



BOBS AND NABOBS. » 

thousands of dollars. And he came back to his family, 
and they bought everything beautiful they could think of — 
diamonds and silks, dresses and bonnets and shawls — 
tind they went to New York, and everyone was glad to 
see them, because they had plenty of money, you know ; 
and a lovely, splendid fellow with black eyes proposed 
to the young lady, and she fainted right away — they 
always do among rich people. 

Polly. Then I don't want to be rich, I don't. 

Sary Jane. Why, what would you do, Miss Pert? 

Polly. Now, I gess tell you : If a lovely, splendid fellow 
with black eyes asked me to love him, I'd just tln-ow my 
arms around his neck and give him a good hug and Idss. 
That's what I'd do. 

Sary Jane. That would be very improper and common. 

Polly. I don't care ; I'll do it if ever I get the chance. 
'Twouldn't do for any nice fellow to try me. 

Mrs. Brown. Don't be foolish, Poll3^anthus. And so 
they had jewelry and clothes and went to New York. 
But no such good luck will ever happen to us folks. Your 
father's got a brother in New York, I've hearn him say; 
and once he heard he was rich and lived in an elegant 
house. But he ain't heard direct from him since they were 
boys together, and it ain't true, I expect ; and if it was we 
never' d see 'em, way off there, and o' course they wouldent 
come and hunt us up. Tho' the Tompkins are as good 
as any family in New York, I'll be bound. 
. Polly. I wish father would come home anyway, whether 
he's made any money or not. 

\_Enter Mr. Brown at door hack in miner^s suit.'] 

Broivn. Here I am at last! {All scream and jump 



10 BOBS AND NABOBS. 

up. ) How are 3^011, Mariar ? (^Kisses wife and daughters. ) 
And yon, Polly? How you have grown. Give me a 
hug. {They embrace.) Well, I declare {holding her at 
arm's length')^ almost a young lady, and don't you forget 
it. Can't throw you up to the wall as I used to. Eh? 
{Tries to ^ but fails.) Well, how are jou all? Give me 
another kiss all around. I tell you what, when a man's 
been out of God's country as long as I have, calico's worth 
a thousand dollars a yard, and don't you forget it. Well I 
well! well! to think I'm back again safe and sound ! 

[_Sits and takes Polly on his knee, 

Sary Jane. Tell us all about it, par. 

Broivn. Take too long, Sary Jane ; plenty of time 
coming. High mountains, deep valleys — rocks, rocks, 
rocks everywhere — climb, climb, dig, dig, no grass, 
cactus, Spanish baynet, Pinon and burros. 

Polly. What are burros -^— like you put clothes in? 

Broivn. O, 3'ou are a tender-foot, you are ! ha ! ha ! 
Something to put clothes in, ha! ha! Why, burros are 
little jacks only so high, they pack all their mining outfit 
on, until you can only see head and tail. 

Polly. Are they good to ride? 

Broimi. Yes, if you hold up your feet. 

Polly. But what do they live on if their is no grass. 

Brown. You are a sharp one, you are, and no mistake. 
Why, the boj^s say they thrive on nigjit air and mountain 
scenery ! but I fed mine ham coverings and tin cans, ha ! 
ha ! Well, Mariar, seems to me you are a keeping pretty 
quiet, for you. Hasen't anything happened to your tongue 
since I've been gone, has there? It wouldn't seem like 
home not to hear that agoing, ha, ha. 



BOBS AND NABOBS. 11 

Mrs. Broivn. Well, Josiah, I've been thinking you look 
mighty skinched like ; guess you didn't bring home much 
money, eh? 

Brown. Ha! ha! You're afraid I ain't brought back 
much money. Ain't you glad to see me, anyway? 

Mrs. Brown. O yes, you know we be. But, Josiah 
Brown, I tolj:! you when you went away it was fool busi- 
ness, and this proves it ; the mortgage is almost due and 
how is it to be paid, I'd like to know? 

Broivn. Oh, hang the mortgage ; let the old place go. I 
couldn't stay away any longer, if the whole town went. 

3frs. Brown. And didn't you bring home anij money? 

Broimi. Well, I ain't got much with me, to be sure, 
but (Jiow can I tell them?) — ha! ha! Ain't got much 
with me, ha ! ha ! 

Mrs. Brown. Why, what's the matter with him? 

Broicn. Ha! ha! Come here, all of you. (Broa\'tt 
takes specimens from pockets.) Here, look at these, old 
gal. That's from the Pollyanthus, and this is from tlie 
Mariar: how do you like the looks? Ain't they pretty 
specimens? and don't they look as though they had some 
money in 'em? {All look at specimens. Takes purse 
from pocket.) I ain't got much money with me, but I 
brought home a curiosity to each of you — a specimen 
that don't need no assayin' to tell what's in it. There, 
Polly, that's yourn ; and that's mother's, and that's Sary 
Jane's. 

Mrs. Brown. Why, what be they, anyway. 

Brown. Ha! ha! Mariar, can you stand news? 
The3^'re thousand-dollar bonds ! 

Mrs. Brown. Counterfeit, I'll be bound. Don't go 
to playin' no tricks on me Josiah Brown. • 



12 BOBS AND NABOBS. 

Brown. Your wrong, old lady : the genuine stuff, and 
what's more, plenty to follow, and don't you forget it. 
Mariar, I'm rich. Struck a bonanza. Sold a quarter in- 
terest for $500,000 clean money. What do you think of 
that? 

Mrs. Brown. I don't believe it. You are fooling us. 
It ain't Brown luck. 

Brown. Polly, go bring that satchel in from outside 
the door. (Polly brings in satchel.} Now, Mariar, I'll 
<3onvince you with more sul)stantials. I stopped in Den- 
ver just long enough to turn a five-hundred-dollar-note 
into these toggeries. {Takes shaiuls., dress-jKitterns, and 
jewelry from satchel') There, Mariar, how does that suit 
your style, eh? and Polly, here's one for you. 

\^All try on things. 

Polly {goes sailing around the room zvith gay shawl on). 
O my eyes, ain't we fine. 

Mrs. Brown {admiring her shawl). Well, Josiah 
Brown, / cdiuays said you'd succeed! And to think, if 
it hadent ha' been for me you wouldent have gone. 

[^Loohs carefully at shawl. 

Brown. You shall have a planner, Sary Jane, as soon 
fis I can get it, and anything you want, — anything 3^ou 
want. 

Sary Jane. A piano! O joy. 

Brown. I dident write you, 'cause I wasent sure for 
some time it would pan out as I expected. But I was on 
good ground, next the Little Pittston, and I kept pegging 
away, sinking it deeper and deeper ; and I paid out every 
cent I had for assays, and refused some prett}' good offers 
too, for I had faith in that there mine turning out a big 



BOBS AND NABOBS. IS 

un.' Well, I ran in debt for grub, and hadent a dollar to 
buy a bottle of liniment with. People get awful full of 
rheumatiz out there sleeping out-doors, and getting hot 
and cold so many times a day. Well, a druggist trusted 
me for the liniment, and the first thing I did after I struck 
it was to hand that fellow a five-hundred-dollar bill, and 
don't you forget it. 

Mrs. Brown. So we are rich at last. What will the 
Hawkins's say? 

Brown. There's where you are right, old lady. You 
are a millionairess, ha ! ha ! A miUionairess ! How do 
you feel, eh? Anyways stuck up? (Takes her arm.) 
Mr. and Mrs. Josiah Brown, the millionaires of Snag- 
ville Centre, Missouri. How does that sound, eh? We'll 
Sfo to New York and hunt up our rich relations, and show 
them how we put on style out West, eh? Haven't seen 
Bill since we was boys together down in Vermont. He 
went to the city and married a rich woman, one of the 
up tippies, and I came to Missouri and married you, 
Mariar, and I'll match you agin an aristocrat every time. 

Mrs. Brown. Girls, the novel's come true, just as Sary 
Jane was talking. We are going to New York. 

Folly. Bully ! Give three cheers ! I'm so full of hap- 
piness I'm ready to burst! \_Dances. 

Mrs. Brown. When shall we go? 

Brown. As soon as you can get ready. Pack up and 
go to-morrow. 

Sary Jane. No, indeed, par ; we must have time to 
fix up. There's plenty of nice things in Snagville, and 
we don't want to disgrace your relatives ; besides, when 
I go to the city I mean to make an impression. I've 



14 BOBS AND NABOBS. 

read all about what folks do in novels. But what loill ive 
do with Polly? She never will be genteel — look at her 
now ! 

Polly. Never mind me ; I'll take care of mj^self. I'm 
going to be a circus-rider. 

Mrs. Brown. Sary Jane, hand me them fashion books. 
To think I've kept them all these years, and now am 
going to have dresses like them. 

Polly. Will we take the colt? 

Brown. No, Polly ; we will leave everything here as 
it is, and when we get to the city we will have thorough- 
bred horses, an elegant house, and you and your sister 
will be fine young ladies. And Mariar, she'll cut a dash, 
and don't you forget it. I always knew she'd make a 
stunner. Poor old house! it seems a pity to desert it 
now, when it has been a good shelter and home to us so 
long. But wherever we go we'll have each other, and 
that's what makes the home, after all. {Kisses Polly.) 
Mariar, I ain't had no supper. Seems to me you don't 
know how to treat j^our husband when he comes home 
from the mines. 

Mrs. Brown. Well, I declare! I'm so flustered I don't 
know what I'm about. Set up right away. Polly, bring 
the tea. Sary Jane, get some o' them presarves. I'd have 
killed a chicken if I'd known you're comin'. Polly, you'll 
have to go and borry some sugar. 
[Polly and Sary Jane exit. Mrs. Brown arranges supper. 

Brown. Tell you what, old woman, anything '11 taste 
good after livin' out in them mountains six months. 
Everything we got had to be toted sixt}^ miles over the 
worst trail you ever saw, on jacks' backs. No milk. 



BOBS AND NABOBS. 15 

no butter ; nothin' fresh ; notliiii' but canned stuff and 
bacon. Slapjacks and bacon for breakfast, slapjacks 
and bacon for dinner, and, to vary it a little, bacon and 
slapjacks for supper. I tell you what, Mariar, I got 
to be a powerful hand at slapjacks, — could turn two 
at onct. Sometimes we had potatoes, and they tasted 
awful good, tho' somehow they got awful black in the 
cookin'. 

Mrs. Brown. Who washed the dishes? 

Brown. Who washed the dishes? Now, Mariar, you 
didn't think we went in for style out there, did you? 
Who washed the dishes? ha! ha! That's a good one, 
that is. Why, Mariar, we didn't have any dishes, to 
start with, only a tin plate and cup fur each man ; and 
when we got through a meal, we just left 'em for the next 
time — thinkin' perhaps our guardian angels would clean 
'em while we was away, but the}^ didn't; so we just 
wiped them off with paper, and started out agin. It 
saves lots o' time, and I couldn't help thinkin', when I 
found housekeepin' so eas}^, how the Eternal you wimen 
folks put in your time. 

Mrs. Broivn. Now, Josiah Brown, you're up to your 
old tricks agin, and if you hadn't just got home, I declare 
I'd give 3''0u a piece of my mind. 

Brown. Go it, old gal, that begins to sound natural ; 
thought you might be sick or somethin', so I'd just pros- 
pect and see if I could strike mineral — ha ! ha ! 

Mrs. Brown. I'd like to know who made the beds, 
and scrubbed the floor, and did the washin* and ironing — 
angels ? 

Brown. Ha ! ha ! Beds and floor, and washin' ! ha, ha. 



16 BOBS AND NABOBS. 

You're a green one, you are, Mariar, and no mistake — a 
regular tender-foot. Why, Mariar, you don't seem to 
have much idea what a miner's cabin's like. We don't 
have no beds, only some pine boughs — Colorado feathers, 
we call 'em — with our blankets laid on, and a saddle for 
a pillow; no floor, only the dirt, and it's mighty con- 
venient, I can tell .you; don't have to go out of door to 
throw away the slops and coffee-grounds ; don't have to 
be swept or scrubbed. And then the washin' ! ha ! ha ! 
Mariar, I can teach you a trick or two. You know every- 
one wears flannel shirts out there. Well, we just take 
'em off and give 'em a good shaking and put 'em on agin, 
and they look as good as ever. And then the socks and 
other things, — now, Mariar, I bet you couldn't guess 
how we wash 'em. 

Mrs. Brown. In water, I s'pose. 

Broivn. Yes, old gal, your right and no mistake — in 
water ; the beautif ulest clear water you ever sot your eyes 
on, that goes dashin' down over the rocks like a race 
horse. Well, we just tie our clothes to a strong string, 
toss 'em in the water, tie the string to a tree and leave 'em 
there over night. In the mornin' they're all clean, and 
like as not covered with ice, so we hang 'em up in a tree 
to dry, and our washin' and ironin' is all done. Ain't 
that a wrinkle worth knowin' — eh, Mariar? 

ITries to kiss her. 

\_Enter Polly and Sary Jane.] 

Mrs. Brown. O go long, Josiah and don't come foolin' 
round me. 

Polly. O mar. She woulden't let me have any ; she 



BOBS AND NABOBS. 17 

said you hadn't paid the last you borrowed, nor the coffee 
nor soda. 

Mrs. Brown. Well, that's just like Mrs. Hawkins. 
She's got the meanest little soul a woman ever had. I'd 
like to know if she don't owe me lard and starch and two 
or three drawins o' tea? 

Broion. O never mind, Mariar. I've done without 
sugar for weeks at a time, 'twont hurt me to try it another 
meal. ■ 

Mrs. Brown. Well, set right up, then. 

\_All seat themselves at table. 

Brown. Well, I declare. It seems good to set up to 
a white table-cloth and china. Here, Polly, take your 
old place on my knee. (Polly seats herself. ) Now, that 
seems natural, tho' you are gettin' so big. Ah, a miner's 
life, a hard one — no wife, no children, no anything, only 
hardship and toil. Mother, sa}^ grace, and put in a good 
word for the miners, and wind up with there's no place 
like home, and don't you forget it! 

\^Curtain.'\ 



ACT 11. 



SCENE I. 



lA Street in New York. Enter Charles Gordon and Fitzogden 
from opposite sides and meet in centre.'] 

Gordon. Hello, Fitz, how are you, old boy? Gotten 
up regardless, aren't you? Going to a reception? 

Fitzogden. No. You see I'm on the track of a deucedly 
pretty girl ; and not only pretty, but she's got the tin. 

Gordon. O, " a pretty girl with lots of tin," — not a 
bad thing, by Jove. And so that accounts for the get-up ? 

Fitzogden. Yes, I'm going to promenade in front of 
her house, get her interested in me, have some one intro- 
duce us, etc. Something this style. ( Walks up and 
doivn. ) 

Gordon. There's no doubt, Fitz, but she will be gone 
on you in no time. 

Fitzogden. Yes, I've been told my appearance was my 
best card. Girls dote on a fine figure. There's nothing 
like it. 

Gordon. Yes, I know ; but, by Jove, they don't know 
how much is due the tailor. O no pun, I assure yoU ; I 
mean they don't understand this sort of thing. (Tap- 
ping liini on shoidder. ) 

Fitzogden. Look here, Gordon, don't expose the secrets 
of the toilette. They have their little make-ups, we have 
ours. They lay themselves out on their faces and frizzes, 
we on our whiskers and figures. Where's the harm? 
No one's hurt, and the promenade is made interesting. 



BOBS AND NABOBS. 19 

Gordon. Why, Fitz, I'd no idea you were such a phi- 
losopher. But to return to our muttons — this girl. 
Got plenty of money, you say, well invested? By Jove, 
I'A^e a mind to go in and cut you out. 

Fitzogden. O you have, eh? How about Miss Brown? 
Everybody says 3^ou're engaged. 

Gordon. Well, everybody, for once, tells the truth ; but 
what does an engagement amount to — a mere bubble, a 
breath, and it is gone. 

Fitzogden. But old Brown is w^ell fixed — rich as what's- 
his-name. 

Gordon. Yes, he has that reputation. 

Fitzogden. And Ethel is his only daughter and the 
eye of his apple, — I mean the apple of his eye, — and 
everybody says he means to come down handsomely when 
she marries. 

Gordon. Yes, he has mentioned a stone front on the 
avenue and a few hundred thousand for her dower. 

Fitzogden. In Heaven's name, then, what more do you 
want? What more could the heart of man desire, to sa}- 
nothing of one of the handsomest girls in the city thrown 
in? I tell you what, old boy, you are considered the most 
fortunate man in town. 

Gordon. That's pleasant, and quite flattering to one's 
vanity. 

Fitzogden. And she loves 3^ou, too, or I am not a judge 
of the tender passion. 

Gordon. Yes, she loves me, no doubt of that ; but — 

Fitzogden. Then what are you fussing about? I should 
say you were pretty well fixed. Wish I were in your 
shoes ; but for some unaccountable reason she never fan- 
cied me. {Aside.) Poor taste, too, by Jove! 



20 BOBS AND NABOBS. 

Gordon. Well, old boy, I might as well tell you ; no 
use of making a secret of the matter. 'Twill be all over 
town in a few days. Old Brown is on the verge of bank- 
ruptcy. 

Fitzogden. You don't mean it! Brown? 

Gordon. Yes, too true, and deucedly unpleasant for 
me. Bad mining speculations, I understand. 

Fitzogden. You astonish me. Why, he ought to be able 
to draw a million. 

Gordon. Yes, he could one time draw a dozen of them. 
Why the devil couldn't he let speculation alone. Nothing 
but a bonanza would save him. 

Fitzogden. So you mean to break the engagement with 
Ethel? 

Gordon. Yes, this evening, before the smash. There's 
no other way of getting out honorably. 

Fitzogden. Look here ; Gordon perhaps I am not a 
judge, you know, but I should say that deuced clever 
thing that Lady Teazle says: '' Had we better not leave 
honor out of the question?" 

Gordon. Well, as you please ; we are old friends and 
understand one another, so where is the use of mincing 
matters. I can't live without money. I can't make it, 
so I must marry it. "As good fish in the sea as ever 
were caught," eh? Where's the girl you were talking 
about ? 

Fitzogden. No you don't, old fellow; that's my lead. 

Gordon. Well, I'll find one somewhere; and now I 
must go to Ethel. A nice made-up little quarrel — I 
accuse her of flirting ; she denies ; I grow angry, etc. , 
and finally insist on being released from the engagement. 



BOBS AND NABOBS. 21 

That's easily done, old boy, then "Ho for fields and 
pastures new." Ha! ha! Nothing like a fine figure — 
eh, Fitz? Ta-ta. Mum's the word. [Exit E. I. E. 

Fitzodgen. Well, that's cool business, b}'- jove. Now, 
if I should see that sort of thing on the stage, I should 
think that fellow a villain, and hiss him. But in real life, 
you see, it's different — men must live, and if natui'o did 
not give them brains to make money, they must m;irry 
some fellow's daughter that's got it, and that equalizes 
things. A very pretty sentiment, by jove, keeps things 
balanced, as it were. There's no doubt but Gordon's a 
deucedly smart sort of fellow. Yes. his head's level and 
no mistake. [Exit. 



SCENE II. 
PLACE — NEW YORK. TIME — EVENING. 

[J. heautifuUy furnished draining -room. Mr. Wm. Brown read- 
ing paper at table, B. Ethel at piano, L. B., playing dreamy 
mwsic] 

Wm. Broicn. No use thinking over the quotations — 
my day is over. Well, well ; I've done my best, left no 
stone unturned, but it will be all up with me before many 
days. A year ago I would not have thought it possible. 
Now, it is inevitable. Too bad, too bad! If I were 
younger I would not mind it, but pitch in, as I did 
before, and make m}^ way up ; but I'm too old a man to 
commence again at the bottom. Well, for m\^self I do 
not care so much — it takes little to satisfy my wants ; but 
for Ethel and Harry! Poor girl, how can I tell her, 



^1'2 BOBS AND NABOBS. 

Jiccnstomed, as she has been, to a life of luxury and all 
that wealth can command. So gentle and kind! Oh, 
what a daughter she has been to me since her mother 
died! And now — well, she's engaged; no means to 
speak of, but he will work for her as I worked for her 
mother. He is a fortunate fellow. I have thought per- 
haps he was attracted by Ethel's wealth, but this will 
prove him. If he remains steadfast, he will win what is 
worth more than gold — a true woman's love. (Ethel 
loalks to ivmdow, i?., and looks out, as if expecting some 
one. ) And Harry — just ready for college — well, he has 
the pluck to make his way in the world, or he is no son 
of mine. He is as bright as a dollar. ( Whistling out- 
side.) Ah, there he comes now — a son to be proud of. 
\_Enter Harry at door, centre B.'] 

Harry. Hello, sis ; looking for something or some- 
body? Time he was here. "He who would break a 
minute in the affairs of love, it may be said of him that 
Cupid hath clapped him o'er the shoulder, but I warrant 
him heart-whole." 

Wm. Broivn. There there, Harry, stop teasing your 
sister. 

Harry. I'm only telling her wholesome truths. You 
don't mind me, do you, sis? 

Ethel. No indeed, Harry, not when you are as mild as 
you are this evening. Sometimes I've thought 'twould 
be an excellent plan to bottle you up like the boys in 
" Nowhere," but to-night you could not annoy me, for I 
am in a particularly happy mood. To-morrow is my birth- 
day : all the preparations for my party are progressing 
finely. I shall have nice presents. I've the dearest old 



BOBS AND NABOBS. 23 

papa in the world (embracing him), and he is going to give 
me — let me see what — that diamond star for my hair, eh ? 
No? Well then, let me see again, — the bracelets copied 
from De Cesnola collection? No? Well I'm sure it will 
be something nice. And Harry, what will you give me? 

Harry. Something you never had in your life, and richly 
deserve. 

Ethel. And what may that be, pray? 

Harry. A good scolding. 

Ethel. Do I ? " Then must the Jew be merciful. ' ' 

Harry. ' ' The quality of mercy is not strained ' ' — and 
here come the judge. 

[Enter Charles, C. B.'} 

Ethel. Ah Charley, is it you? See what a lovely 
boutoniere I've made you. 

Gordon. Ah, thank you. Good evening, Mr. Brown. 
How do, Harry? 

[Kisses it, then pins it on; they retire to sofa, B. 

Harry. Now we'll see nothing of them the rest of the 
evening. I declare, what do lovers find to talk about 
that cannot be said before folks. I get real jealous of 
him. Since they have been engaged I never have any 
nice times with Ethel in the evening, and it's dull for a fel- 
low to be left out in the cold this may. I say, I wish 
we had some relations in the city where I could go and 
have some fun. Suppose I had a girl cousin about my 
nge, what larks we would have. It's strange we haven't 
any relations, — everyone else has. Don't you suppose 
we have some real live cousins somewhere ? 

Wm. Brown. I don't know; your mother was an only 



24 BOBS AND NABOBS. 

child, and I never had but one brother, and I have not seen 
him since we were boys together. I left him on the old 
farm in Vermont, but he went way out West somewhere, 
married I heard, so it's possible you may have cousins 
West. 

Harry, Oh I wish I had. A real live cousin would make 
me supremely happy. 

\_Enter the Westeim Browns, dressed very countrified. Tableau.^ 

Josiah Brown. Well, here we be ! \^All astonished. 

Wm. Broivit. So it seems. 

Servant. They would come in, sah. I tried to take 
their card, but they 'sisted on supprisin' you, sah. 

Wm. Brown. Well, sir, you certainly have astonished 
us, if that was your object. 

Josiah Brown. A high-flown gentleman, eh, Mariar? 
Not much like me. 

Wm Brown. Now, sir, will you condescend to state 
your business. 

Josiah Brown. I ain't got no business. I'm a gentle- 
man of leisure, eh, Mariar? 

Wm. Brown. It is not the accustumed thing for stran- 
gers to intrude on private parlors in this manner. 

Josiah Brown. But we ain't strangers. 

Wm. Broivn. 1 certainly never had the pleasure of 
seeing any of you before. 

Josiah Brown {to ivife). Won't he be astonished 
when he finds out who we be ? 

Wm. Brown. Again let me ask you to state who you 
are and what is your business, or I shall be compelled to 
have the servant show you the door. 



BOBS AKD NABOBS. 25 

Josiah Brown. High-toned ; regular up tippie, eh, 
Mariar? And you don't know me, eh? Well, that's 
strange, connsidering the many scrapes I've got you out 
of, Bill Brown, when we was hojs together ; and now you 
don't know me, and are going to order me out of the 
house. O William ! 

Mrs. Brown. We are 3^our relations ! 

Polly {to Harry). Yes, we are relations; I'm your 
oousin, and my name's Polly, short for Pollyanthus. 
What's your name? 

Wm. Brown. Is it possible? Are you my brother 
Josiah ? 

Josiah Brown. Sure enough. Bill, and don't you forget 
it! \_They shake hands. 

Wm. Brown. Then let me introduce my daughter Ethel. 
Ethel, this is your uncle Josiah. 

[Ethel come forward and greets Josiah Brown. 

Josiah Broivn. And this is my wife and daughters. 

Wm. Brown. Mrs. Brown, allow me to introduce my 
daughter and son. 

Josiah Brown. Oh, her name's Mariar, Bill; and Sary 
Jane and Polly, just call 'em by their every-day names. 
Don't put on style with us. {Going up to Charles.) Is 
this your son? 

Wm. Brown. Not yet, but may be in time. 

Josiah Brown. O ho, I see. Well, young man, give us 

your fist; it's all in the family. This cub {pointing to 

Harry) is yours, I bet. Give us a shake, partner. Now 

we're all acquainted, lets have a hug and kiss all around. 

\_Kisses Ethel, who submits gracefully. 

Mrs. Brown. I hain't had a chance to say nothing yet, 



26 BOBS AND NABOBS. 

but I*m powerful glad to see you all, and I suppose you 
be to see us. It's only natural for relations. 

Ethel. Yes, Mrs. Brown, we — 

Mrs. Brown. Don't take no trouble to call me Mrs^ 
Brown ; just say Aunt Mariar. 

Ethel. Yes, auntie, I am sure we are glad to see you ; 
but we — we were rather surprised and — and — 

Polly. And 3^ou dident expect to see us so fixed up, I 
bet. 

Ethel. No, certainly ; you do astonish me somewhat. 

Josiah Brown. Its that shawl, Mariar. I knew when I 
bought it you'd cut a dash. 

Polly. You see, we're rich, we are. As rich as you be, 
I guess. Struck a rich lead. Tho' we ain't got such a 
house as this. O my eye, what lots of things. 
[_Goes around room examining things^ followed by Harry, 
loho regards her curiously. 

Josiah Broivn. Yes, Polly is telling the truth, and no 
mistake. We are not poor relations, are we, Mariar? 
Ha ! ha ! So we thought we'd come and look you up, and 
see somethin' o' the city besides, and have a good time ; 
and so here we be ! 

Wm. Brown. And right welcome you are. It's a long 
time since I saw the face of a relative. 

Josiah Brown. See any resemblance between us, 
Mariar? {Stands up beside Wm. Brown.) How do we 
look, eh? 

Mrs. Brown. Well, you don't favor much, that's cer- 
tain. 

Josiah Broivn. Don't you go back on your husband, 
Mariar. Ain't I the best-looking man of the two? Come 



BOBS AND NABOBS. 27 

now, and if I ain't, I bet I can beat him putting down an 
assessment. 

Polly. What are you looking at, Cousin Harry ? One 
would think you never saw a cousin before. I won't bite. 
Ain't you glad to see me? 

Harry. Yes, of course. 

Polly. I ain't as genteel as the rest, and I'm pretty 
wild they say. You ain't afraid of me, are you? 

Harry. No. 

Polly. Then why don't you shake hands and make 
friends ? 

Harry. I will. {They shake cordially.) I was just 
wishing for a cousin before you came. 

Polly. Were you, sure pop? What for? 

Harry. So I could have some one I wasn't afraid of 
to romp with and have gay times. 

Polly. That's me. That's the kind of girl I am. 

Harry. And we'll have such larks. Do you like larks ? 

Polly. Never eat any. 

Harry. No, I don't mean birds — having good times, 
and all that. 

Polly. You bet ! Got any horses ? 

Harry. A half-dozen, more or less. 

Polly. Will you let me ride 'em? 

Harry. Yes, I suppose so, — Ethel's saddle pony, — 
and I'll take you for a turn in my dog-cart. 

Polly. O you ought to see me ride ! I can ride bare- 
back standin' on one foot, jump, and almost turn a sum- 
erset. I was just practisln' that when we came away, but 
I'U get it in a few days. 

Harry. But, Miss Brown — 



28 BOBS AND NABOBS. 

Polly. Polly, for short. 

Harry. Well then, Polly, you can't ride that way in 
the park. 

Polly. Why not? 

Harry. Why every one would laugh at you. 

Polly. They do it in the circus, -and folks don't laugh 
only at the clown. 

Harry. Ha! ha! Been to the circus, have you, and 
got struck. Ha ! ha ! 

Polly. I'd like to know what you're laughing at! 

Harry: I was laughing at the figure you would cut in 
the park. Ha ! ha ! 

Polly. Well I dident come here to be laughed at, and 
I won't stand it. \_Goes off to ^.^ followed by Harry. 

Josiah Broivn. Yas, I worked away and had plenty of 
hard times, I can tell you ; but finally the luck turned. 
I struck the richest lode yet, assayed 11 ,000 ounces to the 
tun, mill-run." And the gist of the matter is I left the 
country a millionaire, and don't you forget it. 
Wm. Broimi. I am not likely to. 

Charles Gordon {aside). Nor I. Ethel, will you in- 
troduce me to your cousin? 

Ethel. Miss Brown, Mr. Gordon. 

Josiah Brown. Come, Bill, can't j'ou give us some 
supper, 'cause I'm powerful hungry. Don't make no fuss 
over us. Just some cold potatoes, mush and milk — any- 
thing. We're not particular. Anything you've got left. 

Wm. Broian. Ethel, order supper, will you? 

Josiah Brown. We've come to New York to have a 
good time, and we don't want you to stand on no cere- 
mony with us. Maria and the gals will help Eihel with 



BOBS AND NABOBS. 29 

the house- work. Maria's a powerful good cook, and 
Sary Jane and Polly is real handy at cleanin' chickens 
and parin' vegetables. Just set 'em to work, 'cause we 
don't want to make you no unnecessary trouble, nor put 
you out at all. And if you want any money for anything 
about the house, just -come to me. I tell you what. Bill, 
it's a good thing to have plenty of money and a silver 
mine to back you. No more worryin' over the taxes or 
mortgage, or begrudgin' the wimmen folks five cents. 
Mariar thinks I'm twice as amiable as I used to be. 
Don't you, Mariar? Money's a powerful smoother and 
softener of character, money is, and don't you forget it. 

[All exit, B. 
\_Curtam.~\ 



ACT III. 

SCENE I. 

\_A library. Wm. Brown and Josiah Brown seated talking^ 

smoking.'] 

Wm. Broivn. Well, I heartily congratulate you on your 
good luck. There are not many going up hill now-a- 
days — nearly all are tumbling. Bad times ! bad times ! 

[^Gets up and walks the floor. 

Josiah Broion. But you surely haint no reason to com- 
plain ; the world has used you pretty well, I should say. 
Bill. (^Looking around.) Rather snug cabin j^ou've got 
here ; must have cost a powerful sight of money. When 
I inquired you out, yesterday, they told me you were one 
of the nabobs — more money than ye knew what to do 
with. Well, it does seem strange that we, who started 
out on the old stony farm in Vermont, should become 
bloated aristocrats, eh? 

Wm. Broion. Perseverance and industry always are 
rewarded. 

Josiah Brown. Yes, perseverance and industry is good 
things in their way, but unless you strike mineral, you 
might keep diggin' down to China, and perseverance and 
industry won't help you much. You see, I had about 
twenty years of perseverance and industry on the old 
farm in Missouri. Missouri's a good State — a powerful 
fine State ; ^^ou'd think you'd got to heaven, to see them 
prairies a layin' out there in the springtime all green and 



BOBS AND NABOBS. 31 

V 

smilin' like, covered with posies — and the land to be had 
almost for the askin'. Beautiful, clean land as ever 3'ou 
seen — not a stone or stump for hundreds o' miles; just 
put in the plow, and sow your wheat, plant corn, and 
have a crop the first season. 

Wm. Brown. Yes, I've heard about it. 

Josiali Brown. Not much like old Vermont, eh, where 
the stones was so thick we had to fence in every acre to 
ge^ rid of 'em? How you used to cuss them stones, Bill, 
when we was shavers and had to pick them every spring. 
Do you remember the two-acre lot that had the spring 
in it? 

Wm. Broivn. Yes, indeed. 

Josiah Broion. How we used to swear a new crop of 
stones growed every year ; for there was always just as 
many, no matter how hard we picked. 

Wm. Brown. Yes, I remember. It seems a long time 
ago — a long time ago. 

Josiah Brown. Well, do you know, I've seen the day 
when I'd a been glad o' them stones in Missouri, for the 
ground was so clean there warn't a pebble as big as your 
thumb to throw at a steer or kill a snake with, to say 
nothin' o' makin' fences. Just the nicest, smooth, rich 
ground ever lay out o' doors ; but somehow I didn't get 
forehanded, tho' I "persevered and industried from four 
o'clock in the mornin' till eight at night, and Mariar and 
the gals was a sight o' help with the stock and sich like. 
You see, every year there was somethin' : One year it 
was grubs; another year chinch bugs; then there would 
be a dry season, and everything' d wither up ; then a wet 
season, and everything drowned out; then we'd have 



32 BOBS AND NABOBS. 

gi^asshoppers, and they wouldn't leave a green thing be- 
hind 'em. 

Wm. Brown. You don't tell me. I thought all you 
had to do in the West was to put in your seed and see it 
grow. 

Josiah Broivn. Well, perhaps we'd have a good sea- 
son — corn so high you'd have to go on horseback to pull 
it, plenty of wheat and oats; and then, 'cause everybody 
had the same, and we were so far from markets, the 
price would go down, and you couldn't hardl}^ sell for 
love or money. So we'd use the corn for fire- wood, as it 
didn't pay to haul at ten cents a bushel. And so it went, 
3^ear in and year out, always somethin' wi'ong, and no 
gettin' ahead. 

Wm. Broivn. I'm surprised ; we hear such great things 
of farming in the West. 

Josiah Broivn. Then we begin to hear of the fortunes 
bein' made beyond the plains ; some of our neighbors 
went and did well; so, finall}^, I decided I'd ^jersevered 
and industried as long on that ere farm as I was goin' to, 
and I stood as good a show o' makin' a strike in the 
mountains as the next one, and so I told Mariar I was 
goin'. Then there was a row, you'd better believe. 
Mariar was opposed to it; and when Mariar' s opposed 
to an^'thing, then look out. Mariar don't believe in 
havin' a tongue without usin' it ; and when it gets a 
goin', then ever3rthing has to stand round, and don't 
you forget it. But I'd made up my mind, and I went, 
Mariar or no Mariar, and for awhile things looked pretty 
blue, I can tell you. I didn't find any mines layin' 
round ready to be picked up, and there was thousands 



BOBS AND NABOBS. 33 

of fellers out there that wasn't there for their health 
no more nor I was; and whenever we'd hear of a 
new strike, men and horses would just seem to grow 
out o' the ground, and every foot o' ground would 
be staked before you knew what you was about. I 
was getting prett}^ nigh discouraged, and thinkin' and 
longin' for home ; when I got acquainted with a fellow 
named Wilkins, Sammy Wilkins, one o' your cit3''-bred 
chaps educated to his finger ends; but he didn't put 
on any style out there amongst the boys — just wore 
his buckskin suit and roughed it like the rest of us. 
Ate his flapjacks and bacon as tho' he never tasted any- 
thing better in his life, and kept our spirits up with his 
jokes and son^s. Well, I took to him and he took to me, 
and we went partners in everything except the Polly- 
anthus. I was puttin' that down before I met him, and 
I believe I would have give that up if he hadent encour- 
aged me. You see (^very confidential^ we was on ground 
next a powerful rich mine. And when I'd got down to 
the same level — what does the other mine do but burst 
up 'Twas only a thin deposit and they worked through 
it and struck bed-rock. Then I would have give up ; but 
Sammy says, says he, hold on, Josiah ; you may strike 
suthin' yet, says he ; put her down a few feet further. 
I'll stand by you, says he ; so I went on down, struck the 
bed-rock, went through it, and everybody alaughin' at 
me, and sa^dn' what a fool I was. But they laughed on 
the wrong side o' their mouths. One da}' when I was all 
cold and wet and hungry, and it was acomin' on night 
and I was the homesickest man you ever laid your eyes 
on, I struck it rich, and plenty of it. {Get^i up.) Jeru- 

3 



34 BOBS AND NABOBS. 

salem ! but wasent I excited ; I coiildent believe my eyes. 
Thinks I, Josiah Brown, is this 3'ou or be you dreamin' ; 
and I rubbed m}^ 63^68 and looked expecting to see the 
same old stuff I'd been peggin' through so long. But 
there was the real stuff, and no mistake, so I just filled 
m}^ pockets and found Sammy. He was as excited as I 
was ; and I tell 3^ou what, partner, there warn't much 
sleepin' 'done in that cabin that night. Sammy knew 
assa^in' and had a little furnace right there in the cabin, 
so we dident have to go to an outsider, but just pounded 
up the stuff ourselves and got the biggest silver bullet ever 
assayed in them diggin's. Then we had to try for gold ; 
and I tell you what, Bill, when we seed them black specks 
formin' in the bottle, we were two o' the happiest chaps 
ever lived, for we knew we'd got a bonanza. Have a 
chaw? \_Offering tobacco. 

Wm. BroiV7i. No, thanks ; go on. I've been speculat- 
ing in mining stocks myself. 

Josiah Broivn. Well, we saw the vein run into the 
mine next ours that was considerably plaj^ed out. We 
dident say nothin' to nobody, but laid low till we could 
find out who held the stock, and then we would buy it in 
cheap, and have a grand consolidated. We found the 
most of it was held here in New York. So Sam started 
for here and telegra})hed me he was on the track of it, 
and would get it all, as nobod}'^ suspected anything. 
Then he telegraphed, would I be satisfied with $500,000 
for a quarter interest in the Pollyanthus ; some friends of 
his wanted to buy. I would 'a been satisfied with $5,000, 
for I was just about bustin' to see Mariar and the gals. 
But I dident object to the extra amount. 



BOBS AND NABOBS. 35 

Wm. Brown. No, I guess not. 

Josiah Broivn. And so here I be, a bloated aristo- 
crat! I havent heard from Sammy, whether he's got the 
stock, but I've got plenty of money for me, anyway, and 
two or three good claims besides. Prett}^ comfortable 
thing to have plenty of money, eh ? 

Wm. Brown. Well, I should think so. 

Josiah Brown. Ain't quite used to it yet, but the 
women folks takes to it natural. The way Mariar did 
order the servants around where we stopped was a cau- 
tion, I tell you. Ain't she a peeler? 

Wm. Brovjn. She is an uncommon woman, I should 
say. 

Josiah Broion. You bet your life. But I say. Bill, 
what's the matter with you. You don't seem cheerful; 
look rather peeked. Tell me about your business — 
what's your money in? 

Wm. Brown. It's in. where it's in so far I shall never 
see it again. 

Josiah Brown. What? 

Wm. Broivn. The truth is, I am on my last legs. I 
hated to tell you,- but 'twill all be out in a few days. I've 
been at the top of the heap, but I am going under now. 

Josiah Brown. Not by the immortal jingoes, — not 
while my name's Josiah Brown ; and don't you forget it. 

Wm. Brown. Thanks, but it is too late. 

Josiah Brown. Not while you are a brother of mine 
and a bonanza to back me. 

Wm. Brown. You are very kind, but I am hopelessly 
involved. 

Josiah Broivn. How did it happen? Speculating? 



36 BOBS AND NABOBS. 

W7n. Brown. Yes ; the truth is, it all came out of 
some unfortunate mining shares. I went in deeper than 
I ought, considering the shaky times, persuaded it was a 
good thing. But it turned out worthless ; and, with some 
unfortunate railroad stock, etc., — 

JosiaJi Brown. Where was the mine ? 

Wm. Broicn. Somewhere on the head-waters of the 
Arkansas. Here is the map. 

Josiali Broivin (examining map). There? 

Wm: Broion. There is the mine — the Little Pittston. 
I wish I'd never heard of it. 

Josiali Brown. The Little Pittston ! You mean to say 
that's the mine you sunk your money in? 

Wm. Brown. Yes ; the shares are not worth a copper, 
and I have the most of them. Being so sanguine of its 
success, I bought up all I could get. 

Josiah Brown (very excited). Jerusalem jingoes ! Can 
you stand good news, partner? You are richer than old 
What's-his-name. You've got a silver mine what is a 
silver mine to back you, and don't you forget it. 

Wm. Brown. No, no ; you are joking ; it was a good 
mine, but it's played out. 

Josiah Brown. It's the very mine I've been talking 
about. It's next the Poll3^anthus — see, there's my mine, 
and there's the Little Pittston ; and you are the man that's 
got the stock we've been lookin' after. 

Wm. Brown. Yes — but — 

Josiah Brown. There's no hut about it. I know what 
that mine's worth, and if ever your head was level, it's 
when you hung on to that stock. 

Wm. Brown. But it's too late ; I've — 



BOBS AND NABOBS. 37 

Josiah Brown. That ere mine's worth two million if 
it's worth a dollar ! Shake hands, old boy. 

Wm. BroiV7i. I've sold it! 

Josiah Broion Sold it? 

Wm. Broion. Yes ; the day before you came. 

Josiah Brown. You are an ass ! 

Wm. Brown. I thought it utterly worthless, and was 
glad to dispose of it for a few thousands. 

Josiah Broivn {brightening up). Oh, who did you sell 
to ? Sammy ? 

Wm. Brown. No ; I sold to an old acquaintance named 
Livingston, and wondered very much that he would take 
the stuff at any price. 

Josiah Broivn. And Sammy didn't get it? Well, I'll 
be bio wed if this ain't iAie meanest thing ever happened — 
just too late ! If Sary Jane hadn't waited to fix up, we'd 
'a been here in time. Day before yesterday? 

Wm. Brown. Yes. Everything's against me, you see. 

Josiah Brown. It's not too late yet — buy them back ; 
X)erhaps the fellow don't know, and will sell for a slight 
advance. 

Wm. Broivn. Yes, it's barely possible; tho' I'm per- 
suaded now he knew what he was about. 

Josiah Brown. When can we see him? 

Wm. Brown. He will be here this evening, I think. 

Josiah Brown. The very thing. Got anything wet 
around here? I'm as dry as the mesa. 

Wm. Brown. You mean wine? 

Josiah Brown. Yes ; or liquor's better — a fellow gets 
accustomed to that sort of thing out in the mountains, 
and rather misses it around with the wimmen folks. 



38 BOBS AND NABOBS. 

Mariar'd give me hail Columbia if she suspected such a 
thing. 

Wm. Brown. There is brandy on the sideboard in the 
dining-room. 

Josiah Brown. That will do first rate for a substitute. 
Come on, partner, and set 'em up. We'll get them 
stocks, or my name is not Josiah Brown, and don't you 
forget it. [Both exit. 



SCENE II. 



l^A conservatory — parlor hack. Music. £'?i^er Mrs. Brown an(? 
Sary Jane, dressed very old-fashioned. '\ 

Mrs. Brown. Now, Sary Jane, how do I look in my 
new gown? It is a scrumptious dress and no mistake, 
and cost heaps of money. 

Sary Jane. Don't say scrumptious, mar; it ain't ele- 
gant. 

Mrs. Brown. Now look here, Sary Jane, don't you go 
to takin' me up on words. I'll not intolerate it. 

Sary Jane. Tolerate, mar ; not ^/^tolerate. 

Mrs. Brown. I said i/itolerate, and I mean intolerate. 
Don't you suppose I know what I'm talkin' about? 
Things has come to a pretty pass when daughters knows 
more'n their mothers. I dident go to school two year or 
nigh two year, for nuthin', and when I went to school we 
said intolerate and meant intolerate. Sary Jane, how does 
my trail look? I don't see no use of dragging so many 
yards of stuff on the floor. ( Wallxs back and forth. ) And 
I don't seem to know how to walk. And how does my 



BOBS AND NABOBS. 39 

waist set? I'm that squeezed up I can't draw half a 
breath. 

iSary Jane. Beautiful, mar. And how do I look? 

[ Walking up and down. 

Mrs. Brown. As purty as a pink. Ethel hain't seen us 
3^et. I guess she'll be rather astonished at our good 
clothes. She w^anted to order some things for us to-da}', 
but I just told her we had all we wanted for the present, 
and she'll see they can make up things in Snagville Cen- 
tre, Mo., as well as in New York. I guess she'll be as- 
tonished to see these diamonds. 

Sary Jane. Put on your gloves, mar; it's almost time 
for the party to commence. 

Mrs. Brown. O, I e'enamost forgot the gloves. {Tries 
to put on gloves.) Where's the use of wearin' gloves in 
the house, anyway, Sary Jane. 

Sary Jane. It's customary, mar, and all rich folks 
does. 

Mrs. Brown. Then I suppose we'll have to be custom- 
ary, as we're rich now. Deary me, how tight these gloves 
be. 

Sary Jane. Push them on, mar — so. \_Shows her, 

Mrs. Brown. That's what I'm tryin' to do. Sary Jane, 
they'll bust if I put 'em on any farther. 

Sary Jane. O mar, hurry up ; here comes Ethel, and 
it's time for the folks. 

Mrs. ^rown. Ain't I ahurryin' as fast as ever I can? 
I declare I am so flustered — 

[Enter Ethel, Wm. Brown and Josiah Brown.] 

Ethel. O Auntie ! 

\_Shocked at Mrs. Brown's appearance. 



40 BOBS AND NABOBS. 

Wm. Broimi. Ethel ! There are guests arriving, I think. 

Ethel. Yes, papa. (^ Aside.) O what shall I do ? 

Mrs. Broivn. Wh}^ Ethel, you ain't got any got jewelry 
on. Hain't you got any jewelry? 

Ethel. Yes, but I do not care to wear it. I'll just run 
and get my point shawl for you. [_Exit Ethel. 

Mrs. Brown. A shawl for me? I ain't cold. 

Josiah Brown. I should think not, old lady. You look 
like a full-blown pijiy. 

Mrs. Brown. Now don't go to makin' speeches, Josiah 
Brown. 

Josiah Brown. I'm a tellin' the honest truth, Mariar. 
You look like a regular Queen of Sheba, and no mistake. 
Take my arm and let us promenade. Now, Bill, ain't we 
a handsome couple? Considerin' our years, and we ain't 
been used to puttin' on much style, to tell the truth. 

Sary Jane. O, papa, why will you refer to those times. 

Josiah Brown. Well, the truth is the truth! Ain't it, 
Mariar? 

Mrs. Broivn. Josiah Brown, what have you been 
drinkin' ? 

Josiah Brown. What have I been drinkin' ? Why a 
glass of water with Bill. 

Mrs. Broivn. I smell liquor. 

Josiah Broivn. Do you? that's strange. Bill, do they 
put whisky in the reservoir? 

Wm. Broivn. Not that I am aware of. 

Mrs. Broivn. Well, there's liquor about you somewhere, 
Josiah Brown, I smell it. And Josiah Brown, I won't in- 
tolerate it. You hear me, I won't intolerate it. 

Josiah Brown. Oh, I know what it is — that lini- 



BOBS AND NABOBS. 41 

ment I use for my rheumatiz smells like liquor. Had 
the rheumatiz powerful bad in the mountains, and sticks 
to me. Got it bad in my left leg now. 

lEnter Ethel ivith shawl^ which she wraps around Mrs. Brown.] 

Ethel. There, auntie, that will save j^oua cold, and it's 
really becoming to you. Is it not, Uncle Josiah? Here 
is a light wrap for you. Cousin Jenny ; you may need it 
after dancing. It's time we were in the parlor. Come. 
(^Aside.) O papa, what shall I do? 

Will. Brown {to Ethel). Your duty, daughter, like the 
true woman you are. \_They exit., L. 

Mrs. Broivn. I don't know what she means by my bein' 
€old. I'm all in a fever now. So I'll just carry it on my 
ann! 

Josiah Brown. Now", Mariar, you are in for a swell 

affair. Don't be afraid to put on style. Remember 

you're a millionairess and got as much money as the next 

one. So go it old lady while you're young. 

[Exit, L. 
[Enter Harry aiid Polly, i?.] 

Harry. I sslj, Cousin Polly, do you know how to dance ? 
Because everybod3"'s going to dance here to-night. 

Folly. Of course I do. I've seen lots of dancing. 

Harry. Can you waltz and polka? and did you ever 
dance the German ? 

Polly. No, I only dance American. What is a waltz? 

Harry. Come, I'll teach you. This is a good chance ; 
no one to see us. There, it's like this; w^atch my feet: 
1, 2, 3 ; 1, 2, 3 ; 1, 2, 3. Don't you see? 

Folly. No, I don't; you go so fast. 



42 BOBS AND NABOBS. 

Harry. Well then I'll go slower. Now, then — 1, 2, 3 ; 
1, 2, 3 (^turning sloivly). See? 

Polly. Yes {tries it successfully). 

Harry. That's right. Now we'll try it together. 

Polly. O my ! Do you have to put your arm around 
me that way? 

Harry. Yes, that's the style. 

Polly. I'm afraid it ain't proper. 

Harry. Why, everyone does it — you will see when they 
commence to dance ; and besides, ain't I your cousin?- 

Polly. O yes. Cousins don't have to be proper, do 
they? I'm awful glad. 

Harry. Well, then, here we go. {They waltz.) 

Polly. O my, ain't that nice. I dident mind your arm 
at all. 

Harry. Of conrse not. Now let's try the rackett. 

Polly. What's that? 

Harry. Why, a kind of four-step galop ; lots of fun ; 
like this {tries the rackett.) 

Polly. O I can do that like a book. ( They dance 
rackett.) O I hear some one coming; let's hide. 

\_They hide behind bushes, L. 

{Enter Gordon and Fitzogden, laughing. '\ 

Gordon. Well, Fitz, how do you like the new relations^ 
eh? 

Fitzogdeyi. Oh, by jove, they are a rum lot, especially 
the party in yellow silk. When did they come and where 
did they come from ? 

Gordon. They descended upon us last night. You 
should have seen the entrance. Ha! ha! By jove, 'twas 



BOBS AND NABOBS. 45 

one of the richest scenes 1 ever saw. Have you talked 
with the old lady? 

Fitzogden. Yes; I had to, you know. Ethel intro- 
duces them with as much eclat as tho' they were princes. 
It shows lots of pluck in the girl, and I admire her for it. 
It must take lots of backbone to introduce one's poor re- 
lations into society. And such guys as these. Ha! ha I 
'Twas all I could do to keep my face straight. 

Gordon. And yet, I'll bet you anything you like, you 
would be glad to marr}'- that girl. 

Fitzogden. I marry " Sary Jane? " Yes, in the moon. 

Gordon. No, but I am in earnest, only I shall not give 
you the chance. I'm going to marry her myself. 

Fitzogden. Are you crazy? They look as tho' they 
had come out of the ark. Did you see the jewelry? Hal 
ha! Where did they get such things? 

Gordon. Look here, young man, be careful of your 
remarks ; you are speaking of my future wife. 

Fitzogden. Your future wife — what do you mean ? Ar& 
you crazy? 

Gordon. The sanest fellow you ever saw, with an eye 
to the first chance. I could a tale unfold would cause 
your eye to turn green with jealousy, because — I'm 
ahead of 3'ou. 

Fitzogden. Unfold away. I'll stand the chances on my 
eyes. 

Gordon. They've got the tin. 

Fitzogden. Yes, they look like it. Ha! ha! By jove, 

Gordon. He owns two or three silver mines. I shall 
propose to the guy this evening. I met her last evening- 
and improved my time, I can tell 3^ou. You know we read 



44 BOBS AND NABOBS. 

iibout a mine that was bought not long ago for a million. 
Well, this old jinks was the fellow. He worked his cards 
well, I tell you, and I shall work mine. 

Harry {aside). And I mine. 

Gordon. You know I told 3'^ou yesterday old Brown was 
on the verge of bankruptc}- and I should break with 
Ethel. 

Fitzogden. Well, old fellow, you are ahead of me, so go 
in and win. I shonld like to have a linger in the pie. Is 
there not another daughter? 

Gordon. Yes ; there is another, younger — a wild, 
harum-scarum sort of thing, named Pollyanthus — Polly, 
for short. You are welcome to her. 

PoUy {aside). I am, am I? he is, is he? I'll show 
3'ou ! 

Fitzodgen. Well, introduce me, and if she is a girl 
that appreciates a good figure, I'll fix her — she'll be 
mashed in no time. 

Gordon. We must go in now, and tlie quicker we play 
our cards the better, for the other fellows will be after 
them full chase when they hear of the tin. \_Exit. 

[Harry and Polly come forward.'] 

Harry. Oh, the villain ! 

Polly. The scoundrel! 

Harry. The hardened reprobate ! 

Polly. The wretch ! 

Harry. I'm lost in amazement! 

Polly. I'm dumbf usticated ! 

Harry. He said he would break with Ethel! 

Polly. And marry Sary Jane ! 

Harry, Because my father had lost his money ! 



BOBS AND NABOBS. 45 

Polly. And mine had got his ! 

Harry. What's to.be done? 

Polly. What is? 
• Harry. We must tell the folks. 

Polly. Yes, and warn them. 

Harry. It will break Ethel's heart. 

Polly. Oh, so it will. Oh, my ! what is to be done ? 

Harry. Something, quickly. 

Polly. Go in and tell before the party. 

Harry. No, we must not; that would not be according 
to the usages of polite society. We must wait. 

Polly. Oh, I say, Harry, 'twould be a capital joke not 
to tell anyone, and get that fellow to make love to me. 

Harry. So it would. 

Polly. Do you think I'm old enough? 

Harry. Of course you are. 

Polly. And then we can plan some way to expose them. 

Harry. Just the thing. Polly, you are a trump. 

Polly. But I won't know what to say unless you tell 
me. \ never was made love to. 

Harry. Well, come into the library, and I'll tell you 
how to act and what to sa}'-. Ha ! ha ! we'll show them up. 

Polly. Or my name is not Polly. [_Exit. 

\_Enter Gordon and Sary Jane.] 

Gordon. Ah, my dear Miss Brown, how charmed I am 
to hear you tell of your Western home. Your \iews of 
life are so fresh. Your artless way of talking quite cap- 
tivates me. Your evident love of nature and poetic 
insight into her mysteries delight my soul. 

Sary Jane. Oh, really, I only told you about pa's 
mine. 



46 BOBS AND NABOBS. 

Gordon. 'Tis sweetest music to my listening ear. 
Speak on — I could listen forever. 

Sary Jane. Are you fond of poetry? 

Gordon. I dote on it. I live my highest, purest life 
when under its ennobling influence. 

Sary Jane. Shall I recite some of mine? 

Gordon. Oh, happiness unspeakable — 3'ou are a po- 
etess ! I knew it when first I gazed upon your classic 
features ; I knew that genius dwelt beneath that brow 
and glanced from that sparkling eye. (O Lord ! ) 

Sary Jane {aside). Just as they talk in novels. 

Gordon. Will you condescend to let me hear some of 
your bright effusions ? 

Sary Jane. I'm afraid you will laugh at them. 

Gordon. I laugh at them? My dear Miss Brown, you 
wrong me. I know 1 shall be enraptured with their 
beauty, thrilled with their eloquence. 

Sary Jane. I don't know — city people are so different 
from country people. 

Gordon. My dear Miss Brown, I adore the country ; I 
adore its people — so true and honest, so far above the 
petty vanities and frivolities of cit}^ life. {Falling on his 
knees at her feet. ) Miss Brown, I adore you ! Angelic 
creature, let me be your lover. 

Sary Jane. You, Mr. Gordon? ^Vhy, you are engaged 
to my cousin. 

Gordon. Yes I am, or was. I will break it off. I 
never loved 'til now! 

Sary Jane. Oh Mr. Gordon, I do not know what to 
say or think. 

Gordon. Think and say nothing only you will be mine. 



BOBS AND NABOBS. 47 

Sary Jane. You love me so soon ? 

Gordon. Yes, devotedly, ecstatically. 

Sary Jane. O Charley, this happiness is too much. 

[Faints in his arms. 

Gordon. O Lord! She has fainted. I had no idea 
she knew how. What shall I do with her? O Lord! 
Suppose some one should come ! 

Sary Jane {arousing). O my darling, darling love. 

Gordon {aside). You are a mart3T, old boy, but bear 
up, bear up ; think of the money. Some one is coming. 
Do not speak of our engagement yet. I will make all 
right with Ethel. 

Sary Jane. O Charley, you havent kissed me. 

Gordon. Neither I havent. (Aside.) O Lord! how 
did she know it was customary. {Kisses her hurriedly. ) 
There, some one is coming. Let us return to the par- 
lor. ' [They exit. 

[Enter Wm. Brown and Josiah Brown.] 

Josiah Brown. I say. Bill, you've got a powerful heap 
o' fine folks in there. 

Wm. Brovm. Yes, the creme de la creme of the city. 

Josiah Brown. You don't say so ! the crame de la 
crame, eh? Now Bill, look a here ; don't go to puttin' on 
style with your own brother what knew 3^ou when you 
was in jackets and has given you many a lickin'. Just 
talk plain English, or I'll have to give you a touch o' Ute 
Indian, and see how you like it. 

Wnii^ Brown. I only meant it was the aristocracy of 
the city that was here. 

Josiah Brown. The aristocracy, eh? Oh yes, the 
aristocracy, 'o course. But Mariar and the gals holds 



48 BOBS AND NABOBS. 

their own amongst the aristocracy, eh, Bill? I didn't see 
anyone among the aristocracy that could take the shine 
off 'em. There's nothing S7iide about Mariar. She 
comes of a good family, Mariar does. The Tomkins's 
was a family held their heads pretty high. They come 
from Kentucky, — blue grass region, — noted for fine 
women and fast horses. Yes, Mariar' s good stock. I 
sa}^, Bill, do you see anything peculiar in that 'ere bunch 
o' flowers? \_Pointing. 

Wm. Brown. No, I cannot say I do. They are very 
beautiful. 

Josiah Broiv7i. Yes, they're almost as purty as the 
posies out on the mountains ; but I bet I can show you 
some beauties in them flowers you never discovered yet. 

Wm. Brown. Perhaps you can, but I had no idea you 
were a botanist. 

Josiah Brown. Come la var, Senor. Botanist be 
hanged ! but them flowers has an attraction for me. Don't 
you feel something a kind o' drawin' you up to 'em? 

Wm. Broivn. No, I cannot say I do. 

Josiah Brown. Well, I do. Somethin' keeps sayin', 
Josiah Brown, go and see what's in them flowers; and 
look here. [Draivs a bottle of whiskey from them. 

Wm. Brown. Who put it there? 

Josiah Broiun. I did, for fear o' a dr^^ season. Have 
a swallow? 

TFm. Broion. No, thank you. 

Josiah Brown. Well, here's to your health, and hope 
you'll strike it rich. {Drinks.) Ah, that's the kind o' 
liniment to keep off the rheumatiz ! Got it at the drug 
store round the corner, and just hid it here in case o' 
bein' took worse with the rheumatiz. Trick I learned in 



BOBS AND NABOBS. 49 

the mountains. Couldn't keep a bottle in the cabin no 
time, so I used to hide it in the sage-brush and cactus. 
{Drinks again.) I say, where's that fellow that's got the 
stock ? 

Wm. Broivn. He has not come, but I have had a note 
from him. 

Josiah Broicn. You have, eh, — about the stock? 

Wm. Brown. No. The truth is, he is an old friend of 
ours, a beau of Ethel's in fact, and he has proposed for 
her hand. 

Josiah Broivn. Well, I'll be bio wed! 

Wm. Brown. Of course it is too late. She is engaged, 
as you know, to Gordon. I Avonder he has not heard of 
their engagement. And yet, now I think of it, he has 
been out of the city for some time ; out West, I believe. 

Josiah Brown. Well, it's rather strange he bought the 
stock of you if he had au}^ idea what 'twas worth, and 
now wants 3'our daughter. 

Wm. Brown. I am convinced he does not know, and 
took the stock to help me in a delicate way, probably 
hearing I am a little short. He is a noble fellow, and 
proves it by proposing to Ethel at this time. I alwaj^s 
liked him, and so did Ethel, but he left the field to Gor- 
don, who won. It's too late now, and I'm sorry for it. 

Josiah Brown. Well, I suppose he's all right if you 
say so, but what I want is them stocks, and we must see 
him and get 'em somehow. 

Wm. Broion. I will see Mr. Livingston to-morrow and 
see what I can do. 

Josiah Brown. Have another drink ? No? Well, here's 
to the rheumatiz. (^Drinks and replaces bottle among 



OO BOUS AND NABOBS. 

^fiowers.) Just help 3^oiirself ; it's an iimazin' help to good 
spirits. There's Polly with one o' your city ehai)s. She 
takes to tlie aristocracy like a duck to water, does Poll3\ 
No discountin' that gal, if she is my daughter. (^Enter 
Polly and Fitzogden. ) Come la var, Polly, havin' a 
good time? That's right; go it while you're young. 
IMr. Wliat's-yoiir-name — 

Polly. Mr. Fitzogden, papa. Mr. Fitzogden, my 
fatlier the Hon. Josiah Brown. \_Theii shake hands. 

.fosiah Bnnvn. Glad to meet yon, Fitz. Gettin' ac- 
quainted with Pollyanthus? That's right. She gettin' to 
be right smart of a gal, is Polly, and cuttin' her eye-teeth 
mighty fast. There can't nobody pull the wool over her 
eyes, and don't you forget it. {Going to William 
Bkow^n. ) The Tlonor able., Qh? Cute one, is Polly. There 
can't no one get ahead of her in a free for all, go as yon 
please. The Honorable Josiah Broivn! [Both exit. 

Fitzogden. So 3'our name is Poll^^anthus ; that's a lovely 
name, by jove — the name of a beautiful flower. That's 
the reason they named you for it, because you are like a 
flower, you know. 

Polhi {in affected tones). O thank you, Mr. Fitzogden. 
I'm sure you're very kind to pay me such a compliment, 
but I'm afraid you are flattering me. 

Fitzogden No, bj'jove; I'm teUing the honest truth. 
You are a perfect flower, you know, — a rosebud of the 
wild wood. 

Pollff. O you New York fellows have such a wav with 
you, you know. 

Fitzogden. Yes, I know. 

Polly. You are too utterly too too for nnvthing, 

Fitz. Yes. we ])ride ourselves on being utter, you know. 



BOBS AXI) NABOBS. 51 

Polly. Ah, I adore the unutterably utter. 

Fitzogden. Yes, it is quite the swell thing now-a-days, 
you know. 

Polly. Ah, I sigh for tlie unutterable utterly utter with 
infinite longing. 

Fitzogden. Yes, so do I. Do you know I have con- 
ceived the most sudden and unacc;)unta})le affection for 
you? 

Polly. You do not really mean it? 

Fitzogden. Yes, I do ; I really love you. 

Polly. But you quite astonish me ; I'm only a simple 
country girl, you know. 

Fitzogden. Some one is coming. Can I see you later? 
[Eiiter all the party, headed by Josiah Browx.] 

Josiah Brown. We're agoing to have a dance what I call 
a dance ; a regular old Virginny reel — none of your stand 
around huggin'-each-other dances. Mariar and I'll lead 
off to show 3"ou how — take your partners, form in line ; 
take your place, Mariar. 

Mrs. Brown. But Josiah, what would Deacon Pettin- 
gil say? 

Josiah Broivn. He won't know nothing about it, 
Mariar. We have come here for a good time. Don't be 
bashful, folks — you'll all have a chance. It will give you 
a good appetite for supper, and there's lots of grub wait- 
ing for you out there — must have cost a heap of money. 
When we get in our new house we'll have a regular old- 
fashioned house warmin', and I will want you all to come. 
I will show you creme de la creme folks how to enjoy 
yourselves. Now then, Mariar, limber yourself up. Strike 
up the music. [_All dance. 

[Curtain.^ 



ACT IV. 

SCENE I. 

\_lStreet Scene. Enter Fitz and Gordon.] 

Fitz. So they promised to meet you in the park? 

Gordon. Yes, their Cousin Harry was going to take 
them to ride. So I arranged it all. The plan works to 
perfection. 

Fitz. Are all the arrangements made ? 

Gordon. Everj^'thing is ready. Minister engaged. It 
was a bold thought of yours, Fitz, this elopement busi- 
ness. 

Fitz. Bless you, I wouldent have thought of it, if that 
little greenhorn hadent have suggested it. She really 
staggered me, by jove. Mash? Why its the worst case 
of mash you ever saw. She actually threw herself at my 
head, and was proposing an elopement before I knew 
where I was. Talk about the reticence and modesty of 
country girls ! 

Gordon. I should say so. Why Sary Jane took it the 
most natural thing in the world I should make love to her, 
and just dropped. Polly persuaded her into the elope- 
ment business. It's hurrying matters up dreadfull}', and 
I expect we'll be awfull}^ laughed at, but he laughs, best 
who wins, eh, Fitz? 

Fitz. Yes, but do you think there's any danger of our 
being taken in? 

Gordon. No ; Sary Jane has told me all about the 



BOBS AND NABOBS. 53 

mine — the assays are way up — the richest vein ever 
struck in the State — a i)erfect bonanza. It is a true fis- 
sure vein. The title is perfect. There's nothing to do 
but take out the ore by the thousands of dollars' wortli 
everyday. And we'll help spend it, eh, Fitz? We are 
lucky dogs. 

Fitz. Yes, we are lucky dogs. But we'll be tied up to 
wives ; and they are not specimens to be proud of, vou 
know. 

Gordon. O hang wives, they are alwaj^s a nuisance : 
but we need not be tied up to them any more than wo 
want to. We can live at the clubs. Have a cisfar? 

Fitz. Thank 3^ou. I hope the old jinks will come 
down liberally. My tailor is getting deucedly unpleasant. 

Oordon. Mine too. A fellow must have money, — lack 
of it is the only crime not forgiven in society. The thing 
to do, if it were possible, would be to die and collect 
one's own life insurance. But since that can not be done, 
the next best thing is to do as we are doing — marry it. 

Fitz. Yes, it's the only way. But I say, I've got an 
engagement with young Smith. Time I was off; — I'll 
meet you at four, at the Windsor. 

Gordon. Don't fail. 

Fitz. Not if I know myself. See you later. 

Gordon. All right. \_Exit in opposite directions. 



SCENE II. 



[A parlor same as Act II., Scene II. Enter Harry and Polly.] 
Harry. Well, is all arranged? 
Polly. Yes, you will find the things in my room. 



o4 BOBS AND NABOBS. 

Harri/. What a lark it is. I say, Polly, you are a 
trump, — a regular trump. 

Polhj. Now don't you forget, and spoil it all. 
Harry. Catch me. Does any one suspect? 
PoUy. Not a word. 
Harry. Come on, then; you must show me. 

[They exit, 

lEnter Mk. Livingston and Servant.] 

Lh\ Take m}' card to Miss Brown, and say I T\ill not 
detain her but a moment. [_Takes of gloves, 

\_Enter Ethel.] 

Ethel. Ah ! Mr. Livingston. I am glad to see you. 

Liv. I am going away : I came to bid you adieu, Ethel. 
Your father has told me of your engagement to Mr. Gor- 
don. There is nothing for me to do but return to the 
West. I ought to congratulate you, I suppose, but when 
a man has loved you as I have, it comes hard. I could 
not ask you before I went away, because I was poor. I 
went West determined to carve out a fortune for your sake. 
I worked hard, and endured privation and disappointments, 
with the thought of you ever urging me on ; your face 
was constantly before me out in those bleak mountains. 
Wealth came at last — I could return and tell you of my 
love. But, alas ! I come too late : another has won the 
prize for which I toiled. Ethel, I used to think you 
cared for me before I went away. Was I wrong? 

Ethel. You were not, but you did not speak. You 
went away without a word. 

Liv. Is there no hope? 



BOBS AND NABOBS. 55 

Ethel. None. I have promised to marry Mr. Gordon. 
I will keep my word. 

Liv. Good-bye, then ; may Heaven bless you. 

{^Kisses her hand., exit. 

Ethel. Poor fellow ! poor fellow ! He comes too late. 
I used to think myself in love with him before he went 
away. He is a noble fellow. I don't know but I am 
half in love with him now. No, no. This is not honor- 
able. I am engaged to another. I must not think of 

him. 

[Enter Mrs. Bkown.] 

Mrs. Brotvn. I declare I'm that tired I'm all tuckered 
out. I feel as tho' I'd been doin' a hard day's wash, or 
havin' threshers, or somethin' o' the kind. That party 
last night purty near wore me out. I thought the folks 
never would go home ; and I was that uncomfortable in 
that tight dress. How do you stand it, Ethel, bein' 
dressed up all the time? I should think you'd long to 
get inter a kaliker gown, and take comfort. 

Ethel. Wh}^, Auntie, I'm very comfortable. 

J/r8. Broicn. Well, I shouldn't think you'd be, trailin' 
silks and laces round all day. There's nothin' so good 
for everyday wear to do work in as kaliker or gingham. 
I brought my knitting, to set down and have a comfort- 
able chat. ( Thejf sit. ) I thought it would seem more 
home-like if I got out my knittin'. You don't seem to 
have no work to do. I should think you'd get tired 
])layin' on the planner and foolin' round all day. Nothin' 
makes me so tired as to do nothin'. I put on this ging- 
ham to go into the kitchen and help the girl get breakfast : 
but she was dreadful high-headed like, and said she didn't 



50 BOBS AND NABOBS. 

need any assistance, and wasn't accustomed to bavin' uo- 
body bother her in the kitchen. 

Ethel. We al\va3's have capable servants who under- 
stand their work, and they do not like to be interfered 
with. 

3frs. Brnicn. AVell. I thought there must be a powerful 
sight of work to be done after the party, and I offered to 
wash the dishes and pick up the scraps, but she said 
there warn't nothin' to be done. 

Ethel. The caterer attends to all that. 

Mrs. Broioi. Oh. tlie caterer, eh? But Ethel, you 
ought to look out after them servants. They're dreadfnl 
wasteful like. I saw lots of things goin' on in the kitchen 
that ought to be attended to — throwin' away good food 
that might be warmed over, and sich. 

Ethel. Yes, I suppose they do waste considerable. 

3Irs. Brown. And Ethel, another thing I want to talk 
to you about — o' course you ain't to blame, haWn' no 
mother, and it ain't to be wondered at your not always 
knowin' what is right and proper. 

EtheJ. Why, Auntie, what have I done? 

Mrs. Brou')i. You may think it none o' my business ; 
but bein' as I nm a member o' Deacon Pettingil's church 
and have a duty to perform, and bein' as you have no 
mother, I'll have to say my say, whether you like it or not. 

Ethel. Sav on. Auntie; I am orhui to be directed. 

Mrs. Broicn. Well, then, Ethel, it's about them dances : 
what do you call 'em, where the men puts their arms round 
the women? 

Ethel. Round dances, you mean? 

Mrs. Brown. Yes, round dances — they all keep goin' 



BOBS AND NABOBS. 57 

round and round ; I should think 'twould make 'em dizzy. 
Well, Ethel, I noticed they all did it, and I don't know 
what their mothers was about to allow it. But, Ethel, it 
ain't decent — no, that it ain't, nor respectable. 

Ethel. Wh}^ Auntie, all the young ladies dance round 
dances — one might as well be out of society. 

Mrs. Brown. Well, Ethel, I wouldent do it if I was you. 
Do you suppose I'd allow Sary Jane to go whirling around 
in a feller's arms? Any kind o' dancing is bad enough, 
iind I've been dreadfull}^ exercised in my conscience 'cause 
I forgot myself and danced in the reel with Josiah last 
night. I couldent hardly sleep for thinkin' what would 
Deacon Fettingil say if he heard of it. 

Ethel. I'm sure there was nothing wrong about it. 

Mrs. Brown. I don't know; I've been powerful exer- 
<3ised. It's a churchin' offence, and it's against my princi- 
ples, and I believe in livin' up to one's principles, don't 
you? 

Ethel. Certainly. 

Mrs. Brown. Now there's another thing, Ethel. I'm 
surprised at your havin' these stone figures round. 

Ethel. What, these statues? 

Mrs. Broivn. Yes, them statutes. I declare it makes 
me that flustered to see 'em, I don't know which way to 
look. Some of them havent on a stitch of clothes, and 
them that has seems to be all droppin' off 'em like. 

Ethel. They are made so purposely to show the beauty 
of the human form. 

Mrs. Brown. Now look here, Ethel: beaut}^ o' form 
indeed I Why don't men and women go around so then, 
if their forms was meant to be seen. Men and women 



58 BOBS AND NABOBS. 

would look pretty, wouldent they, a promanadiu' the streets 
in them kind o' clothes all hangin' on the shoulders and 
droppin' off the hips, and suppose there should be a wind 
storm ? 

Ethel. The old Greeks and Romans wore them. 

Mrs. Brown. Well they was heathen, and worshipped 
strange gods. I've heard Deacon Pettingil preach about 
'em. It don't follow respectable people should have such 
images around. 

Ethel. But, Auntie, the most fastidious people enjoy 
statuary. 

Mrs, Brown. I don't care nothin' what fastidious peo- 
ple enjo}'. I wan't brought up to countenance no such 
thing. The Tompkins's was alwa^^s respectable, and they 
never had no such things. I wouldent intolerate no such 
thing in my house ! 

[Enter Josiah Brown.] 

Josiah Brown. Why, what's the matter, Mariar; seem 
to be flustered about something or other. 

Mrs. Brown. Its them statutes ! 

Josiah Brown. Why, what's the matter with 'em, Ma- 
riar? \^Goes up to statue and looks at it with evident 
admiration.'] 

Mrs. Broion. I wouldent intolerate them. 

Josiah Brown. Why, Mariar? I don't see nothin' 
wrong about this statute. I should say it was a very 
good specimen. Was she a New York woman before 
she — died ? 

Ethel. O no. It is a copy from a celebrated antique- 

Josiah Brown. Antike, eh? antike. Foreign race? 



BOBS AND NABOBS. 5^ 

Ethel. Yes, Greek. 

Josiah B7'oiv7i. Greek, eh? Yes, I knew it must be a 
foreigner. Warm climate? 

Mrs. Broicn. Josiah Brown, what are you stanclin' gaz- 
ing at that shameless thing for? You forget you are a 
member of the church. What would Deacon Pettingil 
say to see you standin' there? 

Josiah Brown. Now, Mariar, old gal, don't get on your 
ear. But I say, Mariar, how do you feel by this time ? 
Gettin' accustomed to bein' an aristocrat? 

Mrs. Brown. I don't feel no bigger nor I ever did. 
The Tompkins's always held their heads high. 

Josiah Brown. No doubt o' that, Mariar, no doubt o'' 
that; but I guess ye haint seen the newspaper notice 
o' the party last night. ( Takes slip from his pocket and 
7'eads.) " The most elegant and recher — (spells it out} 
recherch party of the season was held at the palatial resi- 
dence of Mr. William Brown on Fifth Avenue, last 
evening, in honor of his beautiful daughter's birthda}^ 
and the arrival of his distinguished, — hem, distinguished ^ 
Mariar, — brother, the Honorable Josiah Broicn, of St. 
Louis, and his family. Mr. Brown has been lately inter- 
ested in mining in Colorado on an extensive scale, and 
it is whispered has made some strikes unprecedented in 
the history of the famous State. He is a fine specimen of 
the native American self-made man, keen, intelligent^^ 
and eas}^ in conversation, and it is rumored will run for 
Congress from Missouri in the fall. ' ' How's that, Mariar ? 
Hem ! Congress ! 

Mrs. Brown. I don't believe a word of it, Josiah, 
You're amakin' it np as you go along. 



€0 BOBS AND NABOBS. 

Josiah Broion. It's true, every word of it; and then it 
•describes all the dresses. Listen to this: "Mrs. Josiah 
Brown, a handsome, line-looking, matronly lad}^ " — 

Mrs. Brown. Do it say that, Josiah? Well, I declare. 

Josiah Broivn. Fine-lookin', matronly lady, inclined to 
'{spells) embonpoint — em-bon-point — well, I'll be durned 
if I know what that means. 

Mrs. Brown. Go on, Josiah. 

Josiah Broivn. '' Was most becomingl}^ attired in the 
new and popular testhetic {spells it out) sunflower-color 
silk, made very {spells) bouffant. The jupe was 
trimmed " — Mariar, I didn't know yon wore a jupe. 

3frs. Brown. 1 didn't. 

Josiah Brown. Well, it says so ; and here's a whole lot 
of words I don't understand — must be some foreign lan- 
guage — ^' the jmrdessus was particularly elegant. 

Mrs. Brown. The what? 

Josiah Brown. The pardessus — p-a-r-d-e-s-s-u-s. 

Mi's. Brown. Josiah Brown, you can't fool me. I 
didn't have no such things on. Let me see that ere 
paper. \_He hands her the paper. 

Josiah Brown. Read for yonrself, then. You ncA'er 
saw yourself in print before, I guess. 

Mrs. Brown. Yes, I did. There was a long account 
of my qnilt, the blazin' sun, tliat took the premium at 
the agricultural fair, in the Snagville Centre Democrat. 

Josiah Brown. Well, Maria!-, this New York is a 
tarnal sight bigger place than I ever thought it was. I've 
been lookin' around this morning, and I must own it 
beats me. Why, Mariar, you've no idea the number o' 
hiiih buildin's there is. There is whole blocks and blocks, 



BOBS AND NABOBS. 61 

dozens of 'em, as tall as the Windsor Hotel in Denver, 
and I did think that must be the tallest buildin' in the 
world 'cepting the Tower o' Babel. I haven't seen a 
house yet less than five stories high, and some o' them is 
ten. It seems as tho' they didn't know where to put the 
roof on ; and all marble, and glass, and glidin'. 

Mrs. Broivn. It must take a heap o' money to build 
'em. 

Josiali Broivn. Money? wall yas, I should think it 
did. Where all the money comes from is what surprises 
me. There don't seem no end to it. Everyone goes 
'round with store clothes on all the time, thousands of 
em, men and Avomen all dressed up as tho' they was goin' 
to meetin' ; and the horses and carriages, Mariar, well 
they just take the shine oft of anything I ever saw at the 
agricultural shows. 

IJSnter Servant, icith cards.] 

Ethel {taking them). Mrs. and Miss Stevens to call on 
you, auntie. You will have to dress. \_Exit Servant. 

Mrs. Brown. But I am dressed. Ain't this new ging- 
ham good enough to see visitors in? I'm sure its clean 
and respectable. I'd think nothin' o' seein' the best peo- 
ple in Snagville Centre in this dress. 

Ethel. It is customary to receive calls in something a 
little more elegant. Let my maid assist you. 

Mrs. Brown. No, I'll assist myself . She almost set me 
crazy last night abotherin' round me. No, I'll dress my- 
self as long as I am an able-bodied woman. 

Ethel. As you are so tired, I will excuse you to the 
ladies, — say you are not at home. 



€2 . BOBS AND NABOBS. 

, Mrs. Brown. Say 1 am not to home ? But I am to home ; 
that would be telUng a downright falsehood. 

Ethel. It is a customary excuse : no one thinks any- 
thing of it. 

Mrs. Brown. Well; it's time they did; principles is 
principles all over the world, and I won't intolerate no one 
tellin' an untruth for me. No, I'll see 'em. I expect it's 
some o' your neighbors that want to get acquainted with 
me, and I'll just see them in my every-day clothes, so they 
won't think I'm stuck up by bein' rich. I've made up 
my mind I aint goin' to put on no airs if I be rich. 

[Exit Ethel and Mrs. Brown. 

Josiah Broion. Mind of her own, has Mariar ; there 
€an' t nobody drive her. [Eiiter William Brown. ] Hello, 
Bill, I've been looking round the city since I left you, 
and it's right smart of a town is New York — right smart 
of a town. 

Wm. Brown. I'm glad you are pleased. I hope you 
will like us so well you will decide to stay here and make 
it your home. \_Sits at the table, R. 

Josiah Brown. WeU, to tell the truth, I've been thinkin' 
about it, and while I was strollin' round I looked at some 
land I thought I'd Uke to buy. It' s all improved, and some» 
body has taken the trouble to fix it all up with walks and 
seats, and stone figgers and fountains. O' course I'd 
have to pa}^ for the improvements, but I don't mind that 
as long as the place suits me and it would make a right 
smart yard. 

Wm. Brown. 1 cannot think where you mean. 

Josiah Brown. It's pretty far out, but I dident see any 



BOBS AND NABOBS. 63 

land am'-where this side of it, and it seemed to be prett}^ 
well V)uilt up all around it. 

Wm. Broivn. You must mean Central Park.] 
Josiah Brown. Now, how much do you suppose I'd 
have to pay an acre? Some of it's aweful bad land, 
stonier than the old farm in Vermont, and almost as bad 
as Colorado, but I supposed they'd throw that in, as you 
€ouldent make anything grow on it. 

Wm. Brown. You havent money enough to buy it. 

Josiah Brown. Well, I don't want it all ; I ain't no 
notion o' comin' to New York to farm ; and besides, it 
won't make good farmin' land, no how. I only want 
enough off this end to have a good big yard and vegetable 
garden, and a pasture for the horse and cow. I wonder 
you New l^'ork folks don't care to have a garden round 
3'Our house. The houses don't look home-like, all 
astandin' close together like stores ; and then there ain't 
noplace for the children to play, nor hang out clothes in. 

Wm. Brown. The land is too expensive. 

Josiah Brown. Yas, must cost considerable more than 
land in Missouri. But how much do you suppose I'd 
have to pay for twenty-five acres o' that land. 

Wm. Brown. Thej^ do not sell land in New York by 
the acre. 

Josiah Brown. They don't, eh? Well, how do they sell 
it? 

Wm. Brown. By the foot — so much a front foot, and 
down town so much a square foot. Land is very valuable 
in this city. 

Josiah Brown. Well, I should say so. I wonder they 
don't sell it by the bushel! But how much would I have 



64 BOBS AND NABOBS. 

to pay a foot? I'd as lief buy it by the foot as acre, so 
long as I get enough land. 

Wm. Broivn. The place you mentioned is not for sale 
at any price. It is a public park and belongs to the city. 
But lots on the avenue adjoining, or anywhere in the 
neighborhood are about $1,000 per front foot. 

Josiah Brown, Bill, you've made a mistake and are 
thinkin' of acres, and that's a confounded price for an 
acre. I never heard o' no land bringin' that much an 
acre. 

Wm. Brovm. No, I mean per foot. 

Josiah Brown. You can't. It don't stand to reason. 
There ain't no land on the face of the earth worth that 
much money, unless it's got mineral in it. 

Wm. Broivn. Land is worth what it will bring. 

Josiah Broicn. One thousand dollars a foot for just 
dirt to build on ! Well, is there anybody fool enough to 
pay it? 

Wm. Broivn. Yes. I paid at about that rate for the 
lot this house stands on. 

Josiah Broivn. This ? Well, Bill, you are a bigger 
fool than I took ye for ! Why, you could get a great big 
farm, — yes, two or three farms, more acres than you'd 
know what to do with, for that money out in Missouri. 
{Pacing off the parlor.) Why, there ain't more than 
twenty-five feet. Twenty-five thousand dollars! Bill, 
you are an ass ! 

Wm. Brown. Why, that is very reasonable for the loca- 
tion. How much do you suppose land sells for down 
town where my oflfice is? 

Josiah Brown. Do they sell it by the peck or quart? 



BOBS AND NABOBS. 65 

Wm. Brown. By the square foot, — $1,000 per square 
foot. 

Josiah Brown. Bill, look here : I believe you are tryiii' 
to fool nie. You tliink 'cause I'm a teuderfoot here you 
can make me beheve anything. I swallowed the thou- 
sand dollars a front foot, 'cause you looked so solemn 
like, ])ut I'll be blowed if you can cram the other down 
my throat. One thousand dollars a square foot o' dirt ! 
I wonder you don't take to livin' in balloons and leave the 
old earth. At that rate them old fellows you showed me 
in the Trinit}^ graveyard this mornin' must have a pretty 
expensive bed. Six feet o' mother earth b}^ two across 
would be — let me see, square foot — twelve thousand 
dollars ! Whew ! No, Bill, you don't cram no such story 
down my throat. 

Wni. Brown. Well, it's true. You can believe it or 
not. 

Josiah Brotvn. Look here. Bill, if you wasn't my 
brother and we hadn't gone to Sunday-school together 
when we was shavers down in Vermont, I'd sa}^ — well, 
never mind. Have i\ chaw? {Offers tobacco and takes a 
chew himself.) 

Wm. Brown. No, thank you. 

Josiah Broivn. But I say. Bill {sitting down), how about 
them stocks? I've been so taken up with your all-tired 
yarns I forgot to ask. Have ye got 'em? 

W7n. Brown. I have seen Mr. Livingston. He will 
not part with them. 

Josiah Broivn. The devil he won't! 

Wm. Brown. No, not on any terms. He admitted he 
knew they were valuable. 



66 Bt)BS AND NABt)BS. 

Josiah Brovn. He did, eh? How the devil did he find 
it out? 

Wm. BroiL'u. He has been ont there liimself and inves- 
tigated. 

Josiah Brown. He haint done nothin' of the kind. 
There's no one knows the worth of that mine but Sammy 
Wilkins and his pardner, Josiah Brown. No, not even if 
he had been to the bottom of the PoUyanthus, which he 
haint, because I covered up the vein with good-for-notliin' 
dirt and rocks. The}^ don't know a word of it in camp. 
'cause we laid low to get the stocks. Confound it, Bill, 
why couldn't ye have had some sense and held on to 'em 
a few days longer? You might have knowed if anybody 
wanted to buy 'em they was worth somethin'. 

Wm. Brown. Livingston says he would have told me of 
their worth, but he had, in justice to his partner, to get 
them as low as possible. 

Josiah Broicn. O, he has a partner, has he? Damn 
pardners, anyway! and damn stock! Stock has always 
been makin' me trouble. AVhen I was afarmin' it was 
live stock — live stock gettin' in my crops. Ye couldn't 
make a fence strong enough or high enough to keep out 
the neiohbors' stock. Thev have a kind of lon^-nosed 
hog out in jNIissouri. rail splitters the}' call 'em, that 
can just root under any fence ever built. And then the 
horned critters will jump most any kind o' fence. I've 
seen a steer clear a seven-rail fence at a bound. I was 
alwaj's a mendin' fences, and just when I thought everj'- 
thing was secure, iMariar or the gals would spj^ the hogs 
in the corn, or a hundred head o' stock more or less in 
the wheat. I couldn't sleep nights without seein' stock 



BUBS AND NABOBS. 67 

aracin' and teaiiii' through my crops. And now comes 
this new kind o' stock to give me the nightmare. Con- 
found stock! and confound tliis stiff collar! It's been 
asawin' my ears off all the mornin'. Do you wear 'em 
every day? 

Wm. Broivn. O 3^es, of course. You'll get accustomed 
to it. 

Josiah Brown. And a stiff biled shirt every day, and 
Sundays too ? 

Wm. Brown. Certainly. 

Josiah Brown. And never have a day off to kinder un- 
bend and stretch yourself free and easy without bein' 
afraid somethin' will crack? 

Wm. Brown. It's the regular thing, year in and year 
out — a part of our civilization. 

Josiah Brown. Then confound the regular thing and 
civilization ! Look here : I've been awful uncomfortable 
tryin' to dress like an aristocrat, and I'm willin' to put 
up with a considerable for the sake o' style, but I'll be 
durned if I am goin' to make a martyr o' myself. All 
last night I hardly had a wink of sleep. First one side 
would ride up and then the other — I thought I was being 
hung in Bloody Gulch. ( Unbuttons collar. ) There ! 
that's the fust natural breath I've drawed in two days. 
Now al)out them stocks — I must find Sammy Wilkins. 
We must get 'em. 

Wm. Broivn. But Mr. Livingston will not sell. He — 

Josiah Brown. O' course not, 'cause he sees you want 
'em. That's alw^ays the way in mining ; just as far as one 
advances the other draws back, and when there's a half- 



G8 BOBS AND NABOBS. 

dozen original owners in a mine it's as much as it's worth 
to get 'em all to agree to sign off at onct. 

Wm. Brown. Mr. Livinoston said he was willinor to let 
me have his half back at the original price, provided, of 
course, Ethel became his wife. I told him of her engage- 
ment, and that there was no hope. He leaves this even- 
ing for the West. 

Josiah Brown. Well, I'll be blowed if this ain't what 
Mariar 'd call Brown luck! But I must find Sammy 
Wilkins. What a fool I was to lose his address, — and I 
must see that other fellow before he goes off, and I mnst 
have a drink! M}' throat's as dry as the great American 
desert ! Damn them stocks I 

l^Takes bottle from j^ocket and drhikfi. 

[Enter Mrs. Brown.] 

M)'S. Brown. Josiah Brown, what be you adrinkin' ? 

Josiah Brown. What be I adrinkin' ? O ! liniment for 
m}^ rheumatiz. 

Mrs. Brown. Liniment? Well, it's the fust time I ever 
heard of liniment bein' took inwardly. Give me that 
bottle, Josiah Brown ! 

Josiah Brown. Don't taste it, Mariar. It's awful bitter. 

Mi's. Brown {takes bottle and smells of it). I don't 
need to taste it, Josiah. I warn't brought up in the blue 
grass region of Keutuckj' not to know whiskey when I 
smell it. ■ 

Josiah Brown. There's some whiskey in it to preserve 
the herbs. 

Mrs. Broivn {holding bottle iqj to light). I should saj 
so. I should say that was a very good specimen of old 



BOBS AND NABOBS. 69 

bourbon! Josiali Brown, where is your principles? 
Where is your uprightness of character for which I mar- 
ried you ? Where is your standing in church and society 
in Snagville, Mo., where you was a bright and shining 
light? Gone, Josiah, gone! 

Josiali Brown. Now, Mariar, look here ; don't be too 
hard on a feller. 

Mrs. Broion. I'm disappointed in you, Josiah ; I'm 
disappointed in you. You've fell twenty-five cents in my 
estimation. 

Josiah Brown. Now look here, old beeswax, don't turn 
a^in a feller on account of a little corn juice. 

Mrs. Brown. It's your deceivin' me, Josiah; it's your 
•deceivin' me. I can't never have no confidence in you 
again. 

Josiah Brovm. Then it ain't the corn juice you object 
to. Well, then, Mariar, old gal, I'll never deceive you 
agin. {Takes bottle from her.) Here's to you, Mariar ; 
I'll never drink behind your back no more. \_Drinks. 

Mrs. Broivn. Josiah Brown ! 

[Enter Servant.] 

Servant. Shure, sah, they is all arrested! 

All. Arrested? Who? 

Servant. They is all arrested, and the policeman done 
brought 'em here ! 

Wm. Br'oiun. But who? 

Servant. The young ladies, sah ; his young ladies, and 
the young gentlemen. 

Josiah Broivn. My gals arrested? What for, you 
damned nigger, what for? 

Servant. For trying to elope, sah, with the gentlemen. 



70 BOBS AND NABOBS. 

Mrs. Brown. O my children ! Oh what did we come ta 
this wicked city for? 

Josiah Broivn. Shut up, Mariar. It's a durned He. 

Servant. Here they be, sir, and the gentleman what 
brought 'em. 

[^Enter Fitz, igUIi Harry, dressed like Polly, on his arm, veiled. 
Sary Jane and Gordon, Livingston, Ethel from L. U. E.] 

Josiah Brown {seeing Livingston). By the great horn 
spoon, if it ain't Sammy Wilkins! Pardner, shake. 

[ They shake, 

Wm. Broion. Well, what does all this mean ? 

Livingston. It means, Mr. Brown, that the gentlemen 
were tr3dng to elope with these young ladies. I happened^ 
fortunately, to overhear their conversation at the depot, 
and learning through it that they were under age, and 
knowing Gordon to be engaged to your daughter Ethel, 
had them all arrested. I had no idea they belonged here 
until, offering to champion their cause b}^ sending for their 
father, they insisted upon coming here immediately. I 
believe I was not mistaken when I said this gentleman was 
engaged to 3"our daughter. 

Wm. Brown. He was, but is no longer. What say you, 
Ethel? 

Ethel. That I at last see him in his true character, a 
Adllian ! From henceforth we are strangers. 

Win. Brown. You hear, ^e?iiZewie?i.^ There is the door I 

Fitz {to Polly). Let's brazen it out. 

Polly {nods). Yes. 

Fitz. It's too late: we are unutterably married. 

All. Who's married? 



BOBS AND NABOBS. 71 

Fitz. My sweet Polly and m3^self . 

Josiah Brotvn. The devil 3^011 are ! 

Fitz. Polly, my adored wife, tell them I am your 
husband. 

Josiah Brown. We won't own ye, ye miserable donkey. 

Fitz. Polh% let us fall at your obdurate father's feet, 
and beg his forgiveness. ( They kneel. ) 

Josiah Broivn. Polly, I thought you had more sense 
than to be took in by one o' these city chaps ! 

[Enter Polly, quickly.^ 

Polly. Who says I ain't? 

All. Polly! 

Polly. You seem surprised to see me. 

Fitz. Are there two of them? 

Josiah Brown. Not if I know myself, young man ; I 
never had twins that I know on. 

Fitz^ Then who is my wife? {Lifts veil and starts 
back. ) 

All. Harry! 

Wm. Brotvn. Harr}', you rascal, what does this mean? 

Harry. It means we overheard these honorable gentle- 
men plan to marry cousin Jenny and Polly for their money,- 
and we put up a job on them. I would have ended the 
farce soon any way, for I was getting tired of having my 
hand squeezed, eh, Fitz? But Mr. Livingston saved me 
the trouble. Ta-ta, Fitz, ta-ta. 

[FiTzoGDEN and Gordon exit. 

Wm. Brown. Mr. Livingston. 

Josiah Br 0W71. Livingston? Not by a durned sight; 
he's my pardner, Sammy Wilkins. 



72 



BOBS AND NABOBS. 



Liv. Samuel Wilkins Livingston in New York. But 
how come you here ? 

Josiah Brown. Bill and me is brothers. 

Liv. Then you — 

Josiah Brown. Livingston? Then you are the fellow 
that's got the stocks? 

Liv. Yes, I bought them for 3^ou. How should I know 
you were brothers. 

Josiah Brown. Sammy, you're a brick. Shake! We 
got the best mines in Colorado ! Mariar, this is Sammy 
Wilkins, my pardner. Don't be afraid of him because he 
is a fine gentleman. He don't put on any more style than I 
do out in the mountains. And there is my gals, Polly and 
Sary Jane, what you've heard me tell about. My brother 
Bill and Ethel, you seem to be pretty well acquainted 
with already. Ethel haint no incumbrance now, so I 
propose we go into a grand consolidated. 

Liv. Ethel, may 1 hope? 

Ethel. You may. 

Harry. Polly, you're a trump ; may 1 hope? 

Polly. Cousins can't marry. 

Harry. Sometimes they do. 

Polly. Then we'll live in hope. 

Josiah Brown. Sarah Jane, you'll stay by the old man, 
won't you? 

Saixih Jane. That I will, after my experience to-day. 
I never will believe in men who talk like novels a2:ain. 

Josiah Brown. That's right, Sarah Jane; you stick to 
that. Mariar, I'm never goin' to deceive you — never 
again. (^Takes bottle from pocket.) Pardner, have a 



BOBS AND NABOBS. 73 

drink. No? Well, then, here's to the Grand Consoli- 
dated Follyanthus Mining Company (drinks), and if you 
don't believe we've got plenty of mineral to back us, 
just come out to Colorado and we'll show you a silver . 
mine what is a silver mine, and don't you forget it. 

[Curtain.'] 






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